There are times when it is difficult to write.
I am having trouble with my eyes. Glaucoma. So I really want everything to be BIGGER.
And I try to avoid what I can’t really see.
My hands hurt too much to draw as much as my heart wants. So, I reuse a lot of old pictures that I love because I used to be pretty good at drawing.
Because I am old now, I can only seem to think about and fixate on a thing I can no longer do. And not just because Raquel Welch is now dead. The little soldier can no longer even stand up and salute a beautiful woman. And carrying out his essential duty is out of the question. I even make metaphors like a dirty old man now.
And I do not have a shortage of ideas to use. I had intended to write a biographical story about Walt Whitman being not only a poet, but the nudist kind of naturist according to his poetry. But diabetes assaults my thinking machine and putting together complicated themes and ideas becomes too hard to manage in the time I have available.
Of course, I am retired and have nothing but time available. But with all the other issues, I forget to use it before it is too late.
So, I wrote this… some of it large enough to actually see it.