What happens

It's sadly funny how few of us in our old age are where we dreamed we'd be in our youth.  Being the scatterbrain that I am, I never really had a goal; I just kind of muddled through from one day to the next.  I was going to define my philosophy as 'existentialism' until I read the complex and, in some way conflicting descriptions of it.

More simply then, I am an exister.  I live from day-to-day not planning in any formal way, for planning is sort of silly when one has no clue how many days, hours, minutes, or even seconds lie ahead of one.  I don't think it's at all morbid to claim that I have no idea how much longer I have to live.  I don't fill every moment with useful endeavors; I waste time on things I enjoy, and on things I do to escape from or postpone things I must or should be doing.  I think trying to fill every remaining second with something meaningful, leads to stress and that leads to illness and shortens one's life, however long that may be.

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