Meaning Of Life

I'm turning 30 in May. I don't like to admit that, but I can't deny it either.

My short-term goal these days is simply to move out and accept some responsibility. My long-term goal, of course, is to find a job I love and work like a dog until I get diagnosed with lung cancer and die while curled up in the fetal position on some random hospital bed—where health care will be universal.

I'm planning on going to New York for my big birthday, thus allowing me to see my sister, brother-in-law and niece—and perhaps attend a game at Yankee Stadium before it's scrapped. You know, anything to stay away from the usual way of life here in the 'burbs.

I'll also be thinking about life, I assume. You know: where I'm at, where I'm going, where I've been. It's only natural.

And I can only hope I remember to click these next two very, very profound links—one from Leonard Pitts and one from Jon Carroll.

Both should be read—if not committed to memory. And the other thing that should be committed to my own memory is this: Live life now and fuck everything else.

Or something like that. Perhaps I'll be more articulate when it actually is my birthday.