Actually, weary. That’s the better word. I’ll probably not be blogging for a little while (how long, I don’t know – a week, maybe two). There are many lessons this year threw at me. Some are old, unsolved problems, some are new – some are still very fresh and angry and others simply have no answer, and through it all a question arises –
Year? Why year?
Why do we count our lives by recording how often our planet revolves around our star? Why do we further sub-classify our lives by the number of our digits, into decades? Why do this to ourselves? Why empt and pre-empt everything? Sure, I can see a fair deal of future (much of it is dead predictable – it’s just predicting the unpredictable parts that makes one amazing). Why shorten our lives by counting, counting, counting all the time?
Counting the hours we sleep? Counting the beans in our stank accounts? Counting the calories, fat content or vitamins in our food? Counting how long our children have before they are “supposed to” be independent and on their own feet – why? Maybe I’m fed up with counting. I just want to live. Until I die. And enjoy those around me who live, too. I’m tired of swindlers, con-games, people who make promises and break them. I don’t want any of it anymore, just a gentle day-to-day life, another day, another sunrise. Why is this the exception rather than the rule and we call it a “holiday”? Knowing it will end soon and we’re back into counting everything? Shouldn’t every day be holy?
I should probably not hit the “publish” button on this post but I will, anyway, because maybe if you read this you’ll forgive me more easily for not being on the blogs (or at least, just “stealth-blogging” – stalking and reading, I’m not even sure if I’ll be doing that though) for the next time.