Late Starter

I never said or did anything before, why should I start now?  Why not?  If nothing makes any difference I might as well.  Call it killing time, if you like.  Sure I might as well be doing something as nothing.  It’s all the wan to me.  I don’t know about you, you are your own affair.  A nihilist I am not, I am unclear as to the meaning of the term.  I think it means a person who thinks nothing means anything, including, presumably, nihilism.  What is meaning, anyway?  My brother said meaning is a construct people try to put on things.  Wriggle your way out of that, logical positivists!  At one time I thought I might be an idealist.  I looked it up.  My dictionary defined it as meaning a person with unrealistic expectations.  So that’s what it means.  I thought my brother said nothing means anything?  Words mean whatever I want them to mean, said the Red Queen in Alice.   Call me confused.

Call me anything you like as long as you don’t call me too early in the morning.  I thought of pot holing and mountain climbing, but not for long.  Extreme sports, any form of extremism, are not my thing.  Sitting in an armchair is my hobby.  Sometimes I sits and thinks, sometimes I just sits.  Whatever turns you on.  Or off.  I have a tv, but not plugged in.  Radio was called the great procrastinator, time waster.  TV is worse, the internet worse still.  Everything in moderation, including moderation.  I am moderately happy, content, some of the time.  Life is like the curate’s egg, good in parts.  At other times, extreme or semi-extreme stress prevail.  Hopefully, short lived.  I’m still alive, anyway.

Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish, said someone, possibly my mother.  So, I have started.  The future starts here.  I asked my mother if I said I would do something when I’m good and ready, when would that be?  A very long time, she replied.  She was right, as usual.  Sorry to keep you waiting.  I am, by the way, an orphan, but that is to be expected of a seventy-five year old.  The bible allots us three score years and ten, seventy years, so I have outstayed my welcome.  The good die young.  I am not dead, ergo I am not good.  Methuselah lived to a ripe old age, lots of pension payments.  Was he good?  That’s not for me to say, I don’t know.  If I did I wouldn’t tell you.

What more is there to say?  Lots, I suppose, knowing me.  As I do.  I am my best friend.  I know me very well.  I could talk the hind legs off a donkey.  And probably will.   If I can find a donkey who would put up with me.  Or perhaps a herd.   Pearls of ancient wisdom may fall from my pen or keyboard now and then, anything can happen and probably will.  Be there or be square.  You wouldn’t want to miss the ending, would you?  Neither would I.  Okay, I’ll just say as they say in that quiz show, I’ve started so I’ll finish.  That’s a promise.

Tich Ennis