Tick. Tock.

It occurs to me that I am running. Out. Of. Time.

To make my mark. To provide the world with a glimpse of my greatness. Well, not greatness. A glimpse of my, well, yes. Greatness.

Note: I am not afflicted with an illness of any sort which has caused this line of thinking. Please do not worry. The new year is dawning and I am just getting old. er.

Now, there are several ways to achieve this notoriety. One method is to be truly talented, gifted even. And to share that remarkable gift to the world.

Note: This option appears to be out for me unless the ability to swallow dozens of pills at once becomes chic.

There is also an option that involves performing ridiculous stunts, i.e. the Balloon Boy debacle or sailing around the world in a bathtub.

Note: This option also appears to be out as I have an aversion to both heights and bathing.

Note: Of course that's just a little joke. Heights do not bother me.

Yet another option is to be stupid and get lost in a frigid or sweltering or rat-infested place and to get stuck, somehow, in such place and to get either frostbite or heatstroke or bubonic plague in such place, ultimately forcing one to gnaw off his or her own arm or potentially, the arm of a loved one. To free oneself, somehow, from such place, of course. Otherwise the gnawing is a bit over the top.

Note: I have briefly considered this option.

It just seems like everyone else comes up with all the good ideas. Like vampires. Who thought that writing poor prose about vapid teenagers and blood-suckers would unlock millions of bucks? And tweeting? Seriously, tweeting? When I was a kid, we tweeted and got in trouble for not excusing ourselves after emitting the tweet.

All the good ideas seem to be taken. I can't cook Julia Child's recipes one day at a time and blog about it. Already done. I can't invent the internet. Already done. I can't come up with the idea of stuffing cheese into the crust of a pizza. Already done.

So here I sit. In front of my brand new 27-inch Quad Core iMac computer. Clock ticking. Hub practicing his Wii tennis stroke. Clock ticking. Dog curled up on the couch on top of a pile of cushions.

If I can't leave a mark, I guess this life isn't so bad.

Heck, yes.