JULY 20, 2025
July 20, 2025
It’s July 20, 2025, summer will be over in a few minutes. At least it seems that it will be over. Time as one ages goes faster, and faster. It’s a fact, time does pass more quickly. One gets up on Monday morning, and by the time that you blink it’s Friday. At least that’s what it seems. We try to hold time back dragging our heels, but appointments for this and for that, with time wasted between appointments, there seems little time to whittle the list of things that you wish to do before time, your time, runs out. I get out of bed, but not before massaging my legs and flexing my hands and arms, attempting to remove the arthritic stiffness that creeps in the night. The futility of it all finished I actually stumble from the bed, struggle to pull on some clothes, and take a few steps testing the water so to speak, and then stumble further down the hall to the kitchen and make my first cup. It’s not fair you think, between sips of your morning coffee, not fair at all, this final journey. It shouldn’t be filled with pain and discomfort, worn this and that, and a memory quickly fading. No, it’s not fair at all, but then, tell that to someone younger, and they will come back with something like, “think of the alternative”. As if they know. No one knows, you grumble to yourself, as there’s no one around to hear you. Sandy’s gone out to the garden to see what’s come into bloom overnight. Coffee in hand I stumble to my studio, the place where my computer and my art books dwell. Bookcases filled with expensive art books, treasures in this time and age as they’ve become too expensive to print anymore, as digital versions quickly take over the publishing market. Sad in some ways, but the future’s not to be denied. Everything is going digital. Frankly it has to, as artificial intelligence and easily used digital software, have stepped up the production of books written by many previously denied by a publishing industry, unfairly controlled. I leaf through a pile of sketches, and think that maybe I should add something to the pile, but the incentive is dampened by the size of the pile and thoughts about its future languishing in some landfill, or shredded and turned into toilet paper, something judged more useful. I sigh, then turn on the computer, an iMac with a 21 inch screen, and wait until it also wakes and visits its various departments, turns on the lights, wakes up the staff, and is ready to assist with my commands. I command it to open the bookmark department and have them contact various news outlets, and take another sip of coffee, and a deep breathe, before immersing myself in the ongoing horrors of our world…..
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