At my age, state and station in life, I balance the great and utter futility of most action with the fact that, for the most part, I do what I do because I don't have much else going on. Cram a chunk of that into your Sartre bong and spark it.
The idea that life is what you make it was never a truth to which I gave much thought. It was right up there with "It is what it is" and other traction-free gatherings of words. Acceptance and responsibility for your existence allows you to pick up a lot of speed and have some laughs along the way.
Now, you might be wondering why I am coming at you all world-weary and pseudo-intellectual with such trifling piffle. Good question. First off, I believe everything I just stated to be true. Secondly, just a few hours ago, I was lying on my left side with a hose up my ass and I wanted to find the right way to tell you.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to see a doctor to look at my throat. Heidi May, a woman who has been at my office and running my life for the last 16 years, asked the doctor if he could get me in line for a colonoscopy. He smiled and said that, by gosh, they do them right in his office. Suddenly, I was booked for a 1030 hrs. "procedure" a few days later.
I was given a prescription for MoviPrep, a wonderful mixture of sodium sulfate, sodium chloride, potassium chloride, sodium ascorbate and ascorbic acid. The night before, you mix it with water and drink as directed, two liters' worth. The next day they knock you out and snake a tube up your keister.
The timing of all this could not have been better. There I was, on Valentine's Day, answering emails from women and politely dodging their sometimes very direct amorous thrusts, as they detailed all the activities we could engage in should we be in the same room. They also expressed the sincere hope that I was with someone doing something very naughty.
I tell you all that because, while all this was happening, my body was ambitiously evacuating every ounce of material from my digestive tract. The efficiency of MoviPrep can not be understated. Wow, what a product!
Good grief, are humans disgusting. As I sat there, a human hydrant, venting great, spasmodic, thundering jets of fluid, I contemplated the incredible wretchedness of humankind, in spite of our contributions monumental and minute. I tried to find my place in the great scheme of things. Moments like these make a philosopher out of anyone. The Mel Brooks kind, not Martin Heidegger.