The World Is Too Much With Me, Late And Soon

This may be a complaint of sorts, but what’s different about it, or so I hope, is that I’m not saying I’m right and I don’t want a solution (if one existed) or advice, and I don’t expect anyone to ‘feel my pain’ or even agree with me.

I find myself flummoxed by the world at large on a nearly daily basis, and, if IQ has any bearing on it (which I don’t think it does), my smarts don’t help me deal with it at all. If anything, they make things worse. I get wodged in this cranky headspace, all bitter that the world doesn’t conform to my preferences. At the same time, I would be horrified if the world did, for whatever reason, start to kowtow solely to me. Because I haven’t got everything all figured out. Because I do like a little mystery and suspense from time to time. Because being able to spot a problem with the way things are have led others far greater than I to come up with brilliant (and, admittedly, also some far-from-brilliant) solutions.

I’m just not sure how much mystery and suspense one human needs in their life. I think we all need a touchstone comprised of a set of things and events that generally go as planned…just so we don’t start suspecting that the universe as a whole is aligned in such a way that daily life is a constant, instead of occasional, challenge to be sussed and then sorted out.

Personally, I’m well aware that the universe is completely uninterested in my existence and that my relative importance in the grand scheme of things is nearly nil. If I were actually motivated by the possibility of fame or notoriety, this might depress me more than I naturally already am depressed. I’m mostly at peace with the likelihood that, once I shuffle off this mortal coil, there will be a lumpy patch of grass and a big rock inscribed with the dates of my grand entry and exit from life. I’m also fairly certain I won’t have any say in what’s written on the rock, and that, in a couple of centuries or so, barring some great leaps forward in gravestone construction, Nature will make sure that whatever is chiseled into my personal rock is going to be unreadable and uninteresting. I’m also fairly certain that, wherever I might be at the time, I won’t give a toot one way or the other.

In fact, I told my family that if I predecease them, I’d be perfectly happy with cremation. Sprinkle me somewhere nice that makes you happy. I just know my family isn’t keen on listening to my preferences, and will spend thousands of dollars on a fancy marble rock with my name and dates on it. Oh well, I tried. It’s their money.

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