I'm a guy, and I recently turned 29. Eventually, I'll be 30. That's pretty hard to take, actually. The solemn hands of time are pummeling me like a thousand canned hams ensconced in the toe of the world's largest, sweatiest gym sock. I don't know why I'm here, nor do I know where I'm going. But I enjoy the journey (most of the time) and try to keep a positive outlook (which usually works).
Tomorrow is the new year - 2013. The world was supposed to end a few days ago, but nothing really came of that. I don't think anyone was really concerned. At least, the guy I saw at Wal-Mart in the dog food aisle with his hand down the back of his sweatpants scratching his asscrack didn't seem to care about the end of the world. Nor about the lack of scientifically-formulated contents in the Ol'Roy "chow hunks in liquid" that he eventually chose for his dog.
On the last day of the world, I woke up with an exceptional amount of gas. I was a veritable pipe organ that morning, out of tune and only capable of playing one note. It may not have sounded nice, but at least it was loud! I spent some quality time composing my toilet symphony before wandering into the kitchen to make the morning coffee. As I stood before the stalwart percolation I pondered the end of the world, and what I would have done differently had I ACTUALLY believed it was nye. A flood of options rushed through my mind, from wild binges of the darkest indulgences, to following my usual routine, to suicide.
And then it occurred to me - I am 29. I am still young, and likely have some time ahead of me, but you know...canned hams. There are so many things I have accomplished, but there are still so many things I WANT to do, and to experience, and I act like I have all the time in the world but really, in the end, the world WILL end for each of us in turn. And I knew then, standing in worn gym shorts with an ancient mystery bloodstain on the left thigh, that I would most likely not end up doing many of the things I want to do in my life, but that dreaming and hoping about them makes my life lighter and more exciting than it otherwise would be. That the importance of a life is mostly a product of perspective. And I chose to perceive my life at that moment, awash in mundane routine, as a labyrinthian series of small strokes upon a massive canvas. I may only be able to see a small piece of it at any one time, but I have a feeling it is shaping up to be something funky, cool, and significant.
And then I realized everybody always feels that way all the time. Or at least tries to. It is part of what it takes to remain alive and sane in this crazy world. And then I felt a sort of cosmic connection to mankind, and it brought me peace. We are all just trying to do the best we can against the worst odds imaginable and keep our wits about us in the face of certain impending doom. It's kinda sad and pathetic, but it's also kinda beautiful. All around me every day I see complex, intriguing paintings in various stages of completion. The diversity of color and texture is staggering, and to know that I am part of that is both inspiring and humbling.
As I poured the milk into my coffee and put the bacon on to fry.
