Adam Blatner

To paraphrase Hamlet’s soliloquy, in the play by Shakespeare, but things are different today: I have become more aware of “blogging,” which is another way of publishing my random thoughts or writing. What ego! What conceit! to think that anyone out there would care in the least about “random thoughts,” no matter how well-put.

To “blog”—to think out loud. To perform a soliloquy, as for an audience. But there is no audience—or is there. I imagine a note in a bottle thrown into the ocean: “If you find this: Help!” or “I’m on some island in the Pacific—I know not which one!” or “Hello there! How are you today? You don’t know me, but…” followed by a solicitation for a subscription for a magazine that has for many years been out of business.

I’m getting old! Oooollllddd! (Well, not THAT old!) But old enough to detach from striving. Yet I bubble, and I indulge in the fantasy that someone reads this. Plus I write, effortlessly—98.4%—sometimes I hesitate, trying to find the right word, or to spell it write. But I have realized that this writing is not a common skill. Enough.