80.

80.

I read the stats of this here blog fairly regularly to keep the mouth-hole of my self-worth above the oceans rocky surface. Looking at them today I realised this blog is 80 posts old. I know its mainly ramshackle and haphazard ramblings. But for me it serves an important purpose, being able to write fairly freely (that is, outside of syllabus demands like 'write yourself as a foetus with foetal alcohol syndrome in a strawberry patch that is your neglegent mother', such is the whirlwind life of the poet).

Anyway, as this is this barely-legible blogs 80^th, I thought I would cast a net toward my own 80^th birthday and hazard an educated guess at what that might be like. Now keep in mind I am rather morally invested in medical science making the necessary breakthroughs to save me from myself. But let's say they do, what does my eighty year old version of this look like?

Probably Just As Miserable, Maybe Half as Good A Bare-Knuckle Boxer.

Marital Status.

There are options here, I guess. It is not like the days of my grandparents when shackin' up (the accepted nomenclature, it was a different time people) was all important. Especially for women, being a spinster was like being a gangrenous foot. Now you can take your time, wait for 'the one' or until you happen on someone who likes you even though they are a grade or two ahead in the looks department, and try to make it work.

           So what is my prediction?

What I Would Like To Think.

Probably happily married. But like a cool marriage where I can still do whatever and she does whatever. I guess my wife is a Jane Fonda type, obsessed with tennis, I write and eat bacon for every meal. We have friends but most of them are fair-weather friends which is fine and dandy with us because we are anti-social sex addicts. 

               We have no children and have lived a hell of a journey-filled life without them. Maybe we have one. He is not a loser per se, he just never quite lived up to the the epic yard-stick of his parents. Nonetheless he is well-rounded, never calls us for bitcoin and comes by regularly to fix our 4D printer- never raising his voice.

What Is Probably True.

Been single for thirty years and, it's probably too late to get back in the game, don't you think? Eyes a can of sardines for breakfast each day and wonder if this is it, the day I will die alone? 

               Had thought about the swinging bachelor thing in my 50s when my last wife left me, but the wound was too raw and it never really got any easier. I have no money anyway and nothing to offer young chicks (who are ,by now, probably something like 'sows', it's an irony thing an an old ass geriatric like me wouldn't get it).

               At the urging of friends (the guy at the tech re-charge station sometimes smiles at me, is it pity, is it friendship?) I hit a couple of elderly speed-dating nights. I don't have much to talk about, no grand kids, no LAN party night. I talk about my kettle, I think it is on the fritz, though it's supposed to be the most reliable appliance. Plus my fingers are too big for the I.D boil function. The neighbors kid, Rafeel set it up for me, it took all day but we got it just how I like it, bathwater warm.  It bothers me, I get animated. The cougars (who are, by now, probably something like 'Tabbys') move on. 

              Only because they got grand-kids to defrag their I.D boil, Rafeel moved out last year to e-read English at Harbridgeoxton. 

Career.

I don't think there is much secret behind my wanting to be a writer. I really always have. Any other venture was always a different angle into my run to put words on paper. Let's see how I go?

What I Would Like To Think.

I have a respectable career behind me. A number of books, or audiobooks straight into the ear-holes via Wi-Fi. Not so many I have cheapened myself. I am no Tom Clancy or James Patterson. I put real work into each piece of writing, created by farting at an iPad.

               I am a statesman of writing, always willing to help youngsters out with advice on their craft. I tell them beans and cheap meat are essential to creating genius farts. Devon works particularly well. If you want to reach the level of Twain, Dickens and Hemingway, dog food is best. Dog food gets your name in the history blogs.

               A number of my e-books have been turned into big-budget cult movies. Those movies have been turned into holographic dream implants which I didn't sign off and complain about incessantly.

What Is Probably True.

I end up writing for an e-vite company. I have been there thirty years and get made redundant one week before I am due my platinuim smart-watch. I fuckin' headed the 'data night' range, the 'Streaming, McSteaming' campaign and the 'One Hot Gigabyte, Let's Save It For Tonight' service. I championed this company when they were well and truly on their knees and they arse me now, by FaceText no less. Weak as dial-up.

Hobbies.

Shit, what are my hobbies now? Old people enjoy, and need, hobbies. They are, and this is no exaggeration, what keeps them alive. So what will mine be? I hope there is no crazy twist!

What I Would Like To Think.

I am a gardener. Probably of e-fruit, watered in my network garden. I share it around with the neighbors, I am a keen gardener and an even better local friend, and they love it. Electric has recently been added to the flavours, it is the one that give you a little jolt. It falls under zest in the MasterChef kitchen, but they are having real trouble keeping subscribers.        

         I also play Words with Friends 60th Anniversary Edition every second Thursday. I mainly have to set it as anonymous, but sometimes the tech recharge guy plays. He is better than I am. I can't help but wonder how, such a coding and data savy boy is still without a Sow. He sheepishly smiles when I tell him, but he knows what he has to offer. He is a catch, and it doesn't take a 40G connection to see that.

What Is Probably True.

I am a big fan of the latest minesweeper update. My stratosphereband drops out a bunch, but it's the 2060s, good stuff is coming. And I cannot wait to play. The old version of Angry Birds is way better, kids do not know what they missed with that one. 

           I still can't get the last one on four pics one word, I ran out of clues 15 years ago. I don't see how a cat, a chocolate bar, a money box and a picture of veteran songstress Katy Perry work into one clue. It frustrates me.

          I spend time at the park. The ducks died in the flu of '36, so I have taken to feeding the stray dogs small bones from the butcher. There are plenty of dogs after spanner crabs became the 'hot pet of '26. I have two myself'; Ryan and Dakota.

How is my aim? We won't know for 56 years. But comment and have an aim at your own doomed destiny.

NP.