My mind worked thusly (I read a lot of Winston Churchill and he says things like that):
Ah, people will flock to me because I am so clever. They will not be able to resist sending in photos of their animals, in weird situations, like in space. Then with the millions, no perhaps billions I will earn from this pursuit, I will run for governor of California. I will look like Ben Franklin but talk like Arnold. Cal-e-for-nee-ah.
Well apparently people have better things to do than waste their time photo-shopping their dogs into weird situations. But I don't!
Unfortunately I have joined the ranks of the great unwashed mass of the unemployed. Oh, it's a long story, and I am in a far better situation than many Americans who are not working. I have an income.
I awake, drink coffee and fart around on the computer for awhile. I write my blog. Then I water my garden and putter as my wife calls it outside. I may walk my dog, or not. I read-- a lot. Sometimes, rarely, I write on my novel.
My wife tells me that I have this gift of time and I am wasting it. Guilty.
I feel old.