Do?

What do I do? I write words that no one will read. I write paragraphs lost in bits and bytes, sitting on servers, ignored. I write essays stored in memory and forgotten, lost and alone.

I dream. But not well enough. I pretend, but with a decided lack of realism. I waste time.

I play Solitaire. Thousands of games of solitaire. I have an 84% win rate. I play insipid computer games. There are new games to download every Tuesday. They are so stupid in and of themselves, they need a story line to connect the rounds. And so …

I edit the words in front of me and wonder why someone who writes this poorly is paid and I am not. They are writing in English, which is probably a foreign language. At least I hope so. No one raised in the tongue should be this rotten at writing out one sentence at a time.

I become irritated. I see horrible writers published. I am not a literary writer. I am not a genius writer. I am not a bad writer. But … realistically, I am not ever going to be a remunerated writer.

There are millions upon millions of blogs. I can write there. No one reads it, but I can write it. There are billions upon billions of web pages. I can write there,too. No one reads it there either, but I can write it.

I need something to do with my days, and so I write. But it is getting to be more of a drain each day. Why am I writing? If it is to please myself, I'm no longer pleased. And I'm the only one who reads it. So what's the point?

I woke in what should have been the middle of the night, but it was too close to morning. So I began mulling over my problems at four-something ante meridian. I should have been sleeping. It would have been more useful.

How many unpublished books of essays do I need? I think I have enough of those. Could I take Cassie and make it into a novel? Maybe. Then I could have more unpublished crap sitting on my computer, taking up memory, serving no purpose.

I could be one of those ladies who lunch. Except I have no one to lunch with. I could join groups hither and yon. I've tried that. I prefer being lonely at home to being lonely in a group. So will forego that torture.

People who are busy, long for days in which to have nothing on a To Do List. They have no idea what they are asking for. If you have no To Do List, you really don't even need to get out of bed, either at four in the morning or noon.

I have no idea what I do. I know what I did. I can create a laundry list of what I did. All past tense. I have no idea what I do, present tense. Which leads me to the conclusion that I have no idea about future tense, either.

Thirty more years of this. What to do.