Have you ever asked yourself why you or I are here?
What are we doing here? (the existentialist question to ask)
...If not, isn't it about time you asked?
If I know I'd be happier basking in the sun of Southern France drinking Kool-Aid or something more exotic, just know I will definitely be more productive doing it (like thinking of the next successful movie I'm making in my head), and feel I badly deserve it; yet I find myself sitting at home watching some awfully-produced cable program at 9:30 in the morning day in and day out waiting for the next worse program to air for the last 20 years; then what the hell am I doing here?
Why can't I be where I feel I truly belong? In the company of truly remarkable people I can relate to. Why can't I have a life I truly love and not something I feel I don't even have to face or do? What am I waiting for? My insignificant (ie minute in a bigger context) neighbors' demise? My own, perhaps? Someone else's I have yet to figure out who?
First of all, the answer is not 42.
As a person forced into inner exile, in other words, truly boxed-up for many years now, so many that I've grown tired of complaining at least while I'm writing this, I have always found that the answer to my ultimate question is that ultimately, it's not my choice...but someone else's that has been granted to reconfigure my own life.
That other person is still an "x", an unknown, a mystery. And as far as I'm concerned, at least to this day, I don't deserve this piece of pie I have been entrusted with. Having said that though, it's the only piece of pie I have ever dealt with and would have to contend with its elemental value, no matter its flatness.
V. PHONE RANG:
A rather rude awakening that I answered much to my delight. A little welcome intellectual journey.