Unfurled

I had one of those days when nothing that comes out of your mouth is as you intend and everything you hear grates on the friable, burned out nerve endings barely keeping your sanity from unraveling I would say on a scale of 1 to 10, today was a 3– just to give you some perspective, getting hit by a car would rate the day as a 2 (being terminated by said car wreck would obviously make the day a 1). Thoughts swim in eddies in my already tempestuous mind. I’ve got whirling dervishes from too many old thoughts, new thoughts, bad moods and a rare glimpse of what life could be like if I were a simple dish washer. Though I suppose if I were a dishwasher, I’m sure I would discover yet another set of worries and other existential crises with which I could sully this wonderful blog of mine.

It’s often days later when I realize that I’m about to get my period and all this makes perfect sense in hindsight. I never thought of myself as a moody sort of person, but I think I close look at the mirror over a 30 day period would prove the power of self denial. I simply become an intolerant frump. Must stop. Smell roses. Breathe.

I can’t lie. Recently I’ve begun to find life more overwhelming. The enormity of the next 60 years (let’s be realistic– my HDL exceeds my LDL by 30 points, unless I am hit by a car, I think I’ll be good for the long ride) lies ahead of me. What will I do in al that time– even worse, what happens if after 30 of those years, I feel the same way as I do now? This is not me worrying about the root cause of my existence (I figure at bottom, I’m like the rest of the humans– here to procreate, advance the race, eat cheetos limons until my tears run orange), but me figuring out how to not waste my time here. I’m slowly beginning to realize the value of children besides the fact they’re quite cuddly. Children give us a sense of purpose in life, a lineage to trace our past and to reinforce our existence into the future, even when we physically cease to exist. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that my work is important, I keep thinking that the relative contribution to our race is miniscule compared to having children, which already I see as quite minimal. Of course, this perspective makes it difficult at once to find value in work for work’s sake– I’d rather have children then.

I’m rambling. I suppose part of it is a reflection of my internal pandemonium, part of it is because I’m a little sleepy.

Take care all. And remember, there really is no reason at all for you to be reading my blog.