Thirty-three years today.

What am I doing with my life?

The fact that I even have the financial luxury (*relatively* speaking, as in I am not forced to work in a factory to support a wife and five kids) and the lifestyle leisure (namely, no wife and five kids) to ask this question must mean something.

Perhaps such a question really reveals a certain arrogance? As if the cosmos should reveal (and clearly at that) a special, purpose-driven life for me? What makes my fate any more important than the fate of the other seven billion people on this planet–most of whom do not have the privilege of sitting behind a computer and rhetorically typing such questions?

Let me just fear God, do my duty as I can best see fit, love the people in my life, and do what good I can.

About Bourbon Apocalypse: A Whiskey Son of Sorrow

"If you can't annoy somebody, there's little point in writing." ~ Kingsley Amis
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