I’ve always told myself that if I had the time and the means, I’d write.  

The fact is, I must’ve been lying.  

I retired November 2005.  It’s already January 2006 and I’ve collaborated on just one measly play, which still needs work. Who’s kidding whom?  Finally, I have the time, the means and the wherewithtal.  Where’s the output?  

Laying on my bed thinking about it all last night, I came to one sobering conclusion. Despite years of posturing on a variety of subjects about which I have lots of opinions and very little else , I probably have nothing to say.  

Here’s the evidence.

In this Internet-driven era, anyone with a computer can blog away on just about anything; add a microphone and there’s a voice to the blather.  At last count, I have three, or is it four blogs?  They bore even me to read them and I wrote them.  As for recording my thoughts and posting them to the world, no way!  

Which brings me to my New Year’s resolution: write at least 500 words every day. (In case you’re interested, that was 188 words right there.)  

Surely, I must have something to say.  I am a mature, educated, thoughtful adult.  Hmmmm, let me think.  I had a thought the other day.  What was it?  Oh yes.  It occurred to me that movies are much too long!  Too late, however.  The New York Times opined the same this morning.

I suppose I could talk about the friends I’ve made online.  Because my generation has yet to embrace computer technology in the same way I have, most of these friends are younger.  I talk regularly on Skype to a 23-year old man who lives in England. At the moment he is touring South America, but thanks to Internet cafes, we still chat once or twice a week.  

My young friend is at the most exciting and most daunting stage of life: when all things are possible. The latest, is that a friend of his father’s who works for an international superstar, has offered him the chance to go on tour all over Europe and Australia. My friend isn’t certain he wants to go.  I don’t understand.  If it were me at his age, I would have my bags packed.

It’s his decision, but I really wish he’d go.  I view his adventure as my last fling in a way.  It’s something I would love to do, but can’t.  I have responsibilites to a sister who lives in a nursing home, not to mention responsibilities to my bladder which needs relieving every two hours.  Ah to be able to hold it in again!