All the time in the world, all the time

I just love that twilight zone episode. And I know many of my bibliophilic friends do as well.  You are all alone in the world, with everything you have ever wanted, and then one thing happens, like your glasses break, and now you have nothing. You are surrounded by your passion yet you can not do anything with it.

There are days I feel like that. 

I am surrounded by livestock, soil, trees, and yet there is very little I can actually do about it. So I have been following links around the Interweb. Reading blogs that you like, and I have never given time to. Some of them are odd, and now I understand why you like me. But one of the most common posts I have been seeing is that so many people know what the meaning of life is, or what should make everyone on the planet happy. I feel a bit harsh when I think, well aren't we full of ourselves.

It's like the twilight zone episode. Books made this man happy. It's all he ever wanted. He yearned to be left alone, to be able to devour the books he held in such esteem. Yet how many people would actually want this? To only have books for companionship? Only a few of us hard core junkies. The man was a hermit, reluctantly doing expected mundane chores to appease society and a wife he loathed. 

Most of us do that, mundane chores, that's just part of being a civilized society. It's how we can function en masse. It's how we stay healthy with sanitary issues, and just makes things smoother. I know, it sucks. Yet we all have that one silly little hobby that thrills us, that keeps us sane. And no blogger, or writer will ever be able to nail it down for you. They can guess that because you are reading their words, that your dreams are shared with theirs. This is far from correct. I know for a fact that many of you don't read this blog because you yearn to be self sufficient. Some read because I write to you alone, some read because you have the same twisted sense of humor and rebellion as what I ply over these pages, some read because they like chickens or other livestock, some read because it's like watching a car wreck happen ever so slowly, some are my close friends, some we are just getting to know, some are family, and one reads to get dirt on me and hopes with all her heart that my life is more cumbersome than her's. Now how am I going to tell you how your life should be? What it all means? When there is never one truth? 

What I can tell you is that my life is most fulfilling when I take risks. Not just adrenalin junkie things, like any one that has been to Gulf Breeze, Florida, yep I jumped off the levels under the bridge. Stepping out into the abyss and allowing it to swallow you. Of course it can hurt at first, but the risks are, in the end, usually worth it. I have fond memories of a childhood visit to Pensacola and Gulf Breeze, I remember the risks, and smacking into Henry Rollins, much more than the normal times. Husband is more grounded than I am. He calculates risks before jumping. Yet we don't butt heads. 

Our meaning to life is broadly different. We do have the same wants and needs, we have similar thrills. We have been in teenage like love for 17 years, yet we are different. You are different, and I adore that about people. 

And that in its entirety is what I feel would make my life fulfilled, taking risks and filling my life with adorable people. So thank you. Thank you for reminding me that I am never alone. That the reason I am here, is so that I can know you and share our joys and sorrows together. (Oh and the meaning to life is simple syrup, just so you all know.) 

We should be visiting Kentucky very very soon.