Thursday, August 05, 2004

What to Do With Myself?

I don’t know what to do with myself. Oh sure, I could carve notches into my wrists and make myself into an ashtray, but would that really represent authentic fulfillment of my dreams, not to mention my potential as an object d’art? Shouldn’t I aspire to something more noble, something that makes the world a better place for small children, stray animals, and more importantly, generous, terminally-ill billionaires desperately searching for an heir?

There was a time in my life when it felt like all my actions had a significance that went far beyond my own petty concerns. But then, unfortunately, my dealer got busted and everything changed.

Now, it’s all I can do to find meaning in the simplest of actions: single-handedly rescuing a troupe of Girl Scouts from a burning school bus, finding a cure for cancer, scoring the winning goal in the World Cup Soccer tournament, just the sort of mundane activities the already fill my endless days.

Of course, there’s always email. Thank God I’m able to check my inbox every twenty or thirty seconds to see if the message has arrived that will change my life forever. While it’s unclear exactly what this message will entail, I have eliminated a few possibilities, including inquiries from West African diplomats to make me rich beyond my wildest dreams and offers from prosthetic urologists to make me wild beyond my richest dreams.

I know, as we all do, that real satisfaction in life can only come from within. But then again, so does halitosis. We must wonder, therefore, how can one tell the difference? And if not, should mouthwash really be purchased in large economy sizes?

As I ask such questions, I begin to feel the stirrings of what might be construed as meaning in my life. (Either that, or it’s the tofu scramble I had for breakfast.) In any case, the way forward is clear: are there any dying billionaires out there with answers?


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