There is a point to all of this, right? I'm really hoping that I didn't spent all this time and effort, like breathing, for the past 40 years to have life come down to all the petty bullshit. Cleaning my house, shoveling snow, grading one million papers, enduring small talk, doing six million loads of laundry, binge-watching netflix. I know there are moments of beauty in the world, like good hugs, tasty food, star gazing, playing at the beach, reading a good book ... but I feel like I could have knocked those things out in the first 25 years and then been done. I'm just pretty tired now, and I'm not seeing a lot of potential for the future me.
I could plan something, but I don't really want to.
I could fix up my house, but I don't have any money, and I don't know how to fix much of anything.
I could learn how to cook amazing food, but there's no one here to eat it.
I could work out, but ... yeah, no thanks.
I could write a book, but I already did that - twice - and neither one is any good.
I could hang out with my friends, but I don't really have any.
I could make some new friends, but that sounds really tiring and time-consuming.
I could go for a walk, but it's cold outside, and plus, I'd end up back here anyway.
I could play my guitar, but I'm not good at it anymore.
I could write this stupid list on my blog ...
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