The longer I live, the longer the list gets. Sometimes this worries me. According to most, we humans are mortal and as such have to die someday.I don't plan on doing that. But if I do, there will be way too many things on my list that I haven't gotten to, and that bugs me.
I can hear the many speakers at my funeral now. "He was a good man. Sadly, he never got through the first season of House of Cards. I mean, the first season! Not the third where things got a little too much, mind you, but the first! May we all learn from what could have been- what should have been but never was. Now let us pray."
The list is like Bilbo Baggins' road, going ever, ever on. Or like The Simpsons. I mean, shit! How can I even begin to assail this Neverending Story of things I must do? Was George telling the truth when he sang "the more one travels, the less one knows"? Was it George who sang that, or John? Suddenly, I'm not so sure. Point being, ignorance is bliss, and I am fairly blissless. There is no way in Hell I can read all the books I actually own, let alone all those books I was supposed to read in college and high school. Pride and Prejudice? How can I possibly read Jane Austin when I haven't even watched every single Twilight Zone or X-file? And don't even get me started about the friggin' Outer Limits. Oh, and what about the films of Kurosawa? Antonioni? All those French New Wave films?
Maybe I should become a hermit and study a blank wall for forty years or so. Find my inner zen, my humble pie that I could eat a la mode.
Or perhaps take up lycanthropy?
I have been told I was raised by wolves. Add that to the list: find my lupine parents.
Great. Just great.
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