Oh how I’d like to write a meaningful soliloquoy on life’s challenges and the benefits of growing old and appreciating things other than fame, instant gratification and regret. I can’t as I really haven’t lived that sort of life.
So I imagine myself a 100 years old and I’m afraid it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
I most likely would have given up the ghost about ten years before and would just be a husk of my former self. The best would have gone and I would be at Peace and frankly nothing I could say to myself would make a difference, other than ,talking to myself would be allowed if not expected by my three times a day home carers.
As for writing well the arthritis would have stopped me using a keyboard a long time ago and my pens ran out of ink some years back.
I would be playing a waiting game, and smiling a a lot at the impracticability of silly prompts.
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Namaste and Thank You for Reading.🙏
thenotsomightyom 
A candid and wry reflection, GB. Even in imagining the twilight years, your humour still shines through. Namaste. 🙏
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