Optimism

If I live to be 102, my life is only half over.

If I died tomorrow, I will have spent half of my life in prison.

During my out of body experience, I thought I came to understand that this moment, what's happening right now, is everything.

But it's hard to live that way. It's hard to ignore all the things that conspire to bring you down. Unemployment. Imprisonment. Death.

I'm 51.

51.

This morning, I wake up. I Make a pot of coffee. I feed Warden and take him outside. I turn on the radio. I turn off the radio. I cry, out of nothing. Real tears. I heat some butter on the stove and saute some mushrooms. I play some Judee Sill on the stereo.

Every morning now, I wake up. I Make a pot of coffee. I feed Warden and take him outside. I turn on the radio. I turn off the radio. I cry, out of nothing. Real tears. I heat some butter on the stove and saute some mushrooms. I play some Judee Sill on the stereo.

Today, I turn Judee off. I love her, but there are five-hundred voices shouting in my head, and I that's enough for me to deal with. I throw some diced onions in with my mushrooms.

I think. Constantly.

"Curt," I say to myself. "Is this all there is?"
"Huh?"
"Is this it? Should I expect more?"
"Should you expect more? What do you want? Dancing women? Breakfast in bed?"
"I guess I just want life to be obviously worth living, all the time."
"That's a lot to ask."
"Curt, I have needs."
"Curt, you're being unreasonable!"
"I think I'm being perfectly reasonable."
"Curt, there are starving children in the world!"
"That makes my situation okay? That means I shouldn't question my own existence?"
"It's all relative, Curt."
"Bullshit."

My mushrooms are done. My onions are burning. I'm still crying.

Is this all there is?