Life is short, so goes the old cliche.
I feel the truth of this in my bones. And so as I ruminated on this nugget of wisdom, it gave me a choice between two actions.
One, ignore the cliche. We all become worm fodder eventually, and we cannot do so much about it… except be 100% organic so the worms would not suffer from any terminal disease or long-term side effects when they do their bit for Mother Nature and go through the process of breaking down our lipids, adipose tissues, muscle mass, bones, et cetera, so we could revert to being of the earth, literally. Not that the generation of worms would also be here for long.
The second option left me thinking about the paradox of everything. Enough prepubertal musicians have belted out what they wish to do since life is, indeed, timed like a parking meter — even though I have yet to see a real parking meter. Tee hee.
Also, films abound about what one would do because his or her days are numbered. To nail the message home, we see characters willing to go to outrageous heights to fully experience life because the parking meter is slowly ticking to zero. And predictably, there is a sense of self, contentment even, at each ending.
