Here’s the thing: after 50 years, I was hoping I would have reached some kind of understanding about why life works the way it does. I was hoping life would make, you know, SENSE.
LIFE, as some enormous, generic entity, does not make sense. But the moments. The MOMENTS do. I’ve got kids, I’ve got pets, I’ve got a National Hero for a husband…you know, all the normal parts of middle class American Life. And I am making sense out of it one moment at a time. Because the sum of all these moments makes no sense. No sense at all.
I’m ok with that.
I kind of have to be, since there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.