Unfiltered / Unedited Thoughts on August, Aging, & AI

I suppose it’s a good idea to keep writing without aide of j’ai pete. I do often start with a length of words straight from my brain. But truth be told, I’ve gotten lax in making it cogent or clever. So, I miss connecting with thoughts and words. And a challenge seems like a good idea.

Okay, that’s only 60 ish words. Seven hundred and fifty seems like a mountain in that context. (**Note: I’ve set myself a challenge to write 750 words a day)

Maybe a prompt would help. It’s the end of August, the dog days so they say. And we are all weary of the heat and the hot months. I’ve started dreaming of sweater weather and fall campfires. Still, there is a small part of my heart that says,

“Wait, we’ve not spent enough time on the river!”

I need to paddle more, and get out on the water as much as I can over the next two months before it becomes cold and icy. Really, icy? In Texas, unlikely. But yes, cold enough to make the water an uncomfortable reality.

Last summer, K and I would paddle most Sundays. This year, we’ve yet to pull out our boards. I think we’ve been overly tired. Age is starting to weigh on us, extra gravity that keeps us warm and tidy in our beds instead of pushing for dawn launches. And it’s too hot to go any later than daybreak. Hence the disgust with August. It’s too hot to live. And so we die a little daily inside knowing that the days are ticking by and we are missing the best of what living has to offer.

Death. That’s the card that September has promised. In January, when we could walk outside, I did a full twelve month pull. And these are the months that the cards foretold would bring change, disappointment, an ending, with the promise of rebirth, transformation. So, I’ve been pausing to notice what that may mean for my world. Not literally death, but not-not that either.

This is the last year I get to navigate in my 40’s. Closing out this decade and heading into the firmly rooted “middle-ages.” My kids are double digits and quickly approaching maturity. B will learn to drive this year. T will learn to tween. And there are a scant few left where they will be “kids” at all. I am still mourning the loss of babies and toddlers, but also now faced with young adults. It’s not all bad, they are such interesting people. We feel really blessed that these weird funny people decided to make us their parents.

I am really feeling the aging thing this week, which is probably why I’m being so morose about it. I achieved something this week that I’ve been working on for a while, a cartwheel. Four, in fact. When I tried this last fall, I was a bumbling fool. Rolling on the ground like a toddler. So, on Wednesday when I got it. Made the full turn. Almost totally vertical. I felt invincible. Accomplished. Dare I say, athletic? However, shortly after that feat, my knee said,

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WE DON’T MOVE THAT WAY!”

And I’ve been limping for the last three days. And I feel less accomplished and more accountable. That isn’t to say I won’t be cartwheeling in the future, but perhaps after I’ve decreased the consequences of gravity a bit more. So, yeah, that’s frustrating. I just want to be able to do what I want to do. I’m really over my physical limitations. It’s giving, OLD, as the kids would say.

Also, a friend made passing comment about my use of j’ai pete and writing, and my ego is reeling. I’m a writer first damn it. AI-aided prose is just a freaking short cut, but I can still write. I don’t NEED GPT.

As I wrote these words, my brain started to secretly wonder what it would do with this entry. What if I prompted it to help me sort out my illusions and metaphors? Would it be better? More cohesive? Worthy of maybe posting on my blog? I mean, it’s really an editor right? How is it different? These are my ideas after all. Not the machine’s. The siren’s call of LLM.

Maybe they have a point.

Okay, so a writing challenge–just me and my thoughts. I like it, and maybe this is the kind of practice my brain needs to counter act the effects of AI and j’ai pete. Building a relationship with my own mind, instead of with an LLM.

**J’ai pete recommended I close with this statement:

So I’ll keep writing, cartwheeling, paddling, even limping. Because endings may be promised, but so are beginnings.