I'm wondering how to fill the days that stretch in front of me,
No longer calling for sophisticated analyses, or providing guidance for the young,
The page of life looks empty and unstructured, scary, white, ghostly
So I write
I plot, I ask ChatGPT to make me a life, of things I think I want to do,
And then, I step aside, and I do my life and fill in the blanks of what I did
There is no correspondence, in fact, no foundational eureka moment of where I
Will go in this life, only a page of "I thought" next to "I did", but this must
Tell me me something of what I want to do because,
I did.
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