Right before I was born someone tapped me on my shoulder and showed me a contract that I was supposed to sign first. On page one it said, "Lease on Life: Premium Edition". On page ten it said, "Sign here," which I did. Now I'm thinking... maybe I should've read the fine print before I plunged into this world inhabited by craziness incarnate. At the time I thought premium meant premium offer. Now I suspect they meant, This one is for you to pay through the nose, stupid! I would've never signed that damn thing if I had known the specifics of the "big surprise" they had in store for me. I once said to my mother, "Why did you want a baby, Momma? How could you be so selfish! I should've never been born!" It's probably the most hurtful thing I ever said to her, and I bet she still remembers three decades down the road.
Why am I telling you this? I'm telling you this because I love life but I'm not so fond of this world ─ to say the least. Plus I keep working my blue butt off wondering who I'm doing this for. I feel trapped. I have always felt this way. I know my lease on life is short, so why even care about getting good grades, going to college, finding a good job, buying a house, giving lectures (the best in the business, mind you!), publishing pompous papers and admiring my unrivaled mastery of alliteration in the process, being somebody? That Petit Prince inside of me is saying, "What good does owning the stars do to you?"
I don't know.
The stars will still be here when I'm gone.
I don't know.