Life Is Too Short To ….

tick tock clock

Life is weird.  And too damned short.

When you're a kid, your life passes slowly and you want it to go faster, so you can do fun adult stuff like run with scissors, stay out all night, drive a Maserati, kiss someone not related to you, shave, have a cool bachelor/ette crib and drink the amber-colored stuff Dad pours into a short glass after work. (Or as my boys, Steely Dan, put it in Deacon Blues, "Drink scotch whiskey/ All night long/ And die behind the wheel.")

Finally, you get older, until one day you reach the age of majority, whatever that is in your prefacture.  And life starts to move faster.  You (hopefully) complete you education.  You start working full-time.  You get to bed at a "decent hour."  You start drinking coffee.  And maybe other stuff, like the aforementioned amber-colored liquid.  You might even start smoking irregularly-shaped hand-rolled "cigarettes" or shoving overpriced white powder up your nose or taking pills that make you feel like dancing for three hours straight to droning, bass-y music while wearing a neon tube around your neck.

You buy your first good suit/pantsuit.  (BTW, why are womens' suits called "pantsuits?"  Mens' suits include pants but are just called "suits" - the pants are implied.  Womens' suits with skirts aren't called "skirtsuits."  Curious. Where is Betty Friedan when we need her?  But I digress.)

You buy "good" shoes.  You get regular haircuts.  You enter the labyrinth of The Dating World.  Suddenly, you have bills to pay.  You purchase insurance for all the stuff you're accumulating.  You realize that people are often not nice, not honest, not ethical, which blows your mind until you get used to it.  Eventually you become numb and figure that damn-near everyone is a mean, lying, unethical schmuck, at least a lot of the time. You unwittingly learn the meaning of the phrase, "personal agenda," and if you really meet the wrong people, "Machiavellian."

Imperceptably, in small increments, you become jaded.  Life starts to really fly by, and you find yourself prostituting your values, dreams and desires just to get through the day.

Yes, life is weird.  And perverse.  Had anyone told the 10-year old you just how weird and perverse adult life was gonna be, you'd have hung yourself from your treehouse.

So where am I going with this?

Right here:  We all put up with so much BS, so many disappointments, so much ennui on a daily basis that we lose sight of what matters to us most.

So, mon ami, fill in the blank:  Life is too short to  ___________________.

I'll get you started with some of mine:

My life is too short to:

…. drink bad coffee.

…. use 1-ply toilet paper.

…. abide toxic people.

.... toil forever in a soul-sucking job.

.... not be hugged & snuzzled on a regular basis.

.... not have regular, excellent sex.

.... be always-dour.

.... not laugh - a lot.

.... brood about things I can't change.

.... drive a car I hate.

.... never take a chance.

.... lose hope.

.... let someone shit on my dreams.

.... be disrespected.

…. not seek my soulmate (can you hear me, Dr. Wu?)

John Mellencamp once said, "Hold onto 16 as long as you can."  We can't, but we can strive to make our lives full with meaning.  We trade so much for so little as we age.  Life is just too damned short to brook such treason.

Dylan Thomas knew, and then some:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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