Waste of time

I'm trying to think of things to do that are not a waste of time. Writing what may never be read could be construed as a waste of time. It's the obligatory feeling sorry for one's self piece. It will be garbage and it won't be read. Never mind.

Dreams are waste of time. Dreaming whilst asleep achieves absolutely nothing and dwelling on the content afterwards gets you even less. Dreaming whilst awake is pointless if not acted on or if it's simply looking-out-of-the-window day-dreaming. I was often told this by my teachers - and they were right.

There is little that we do that isn't a waste of time, unless it's helping somebody else in some way - large or small. Some improvement in someone else's life. But how can we do this if we are tied into trying to achieve our own material happiness? When did human life reduce simply to this? Or even questing for our own spiritual happiness as eager adherents to a "New Some-ism or other"? How does that help anyone else? How does it help us?

I feel hemmed in by lots of things that not only amount to a waste of time, but do nothing to help others. What is the point?

Options appear to be as follows:

1. open a bottle of Jack Daniels

2. jump off this fast moving train and hope not to break anything

3. become a monk

4. follow a plan to its slow fruition.

Both one and two involve the possibility of hurting self and bystanders.

Belief in heaven would suggest option three, if you believed in heaven.

Common sense says take option four - but it sounds boring. Dull. The very reason I'm in this fix is because I'm not good at dull. Hence I am not living in a detached house in the London suburbs working as an accountant and throwing dinner-parties. Option four seems slow, painful and not a source of instant gratification.

As far as writing about this goes, it's just a question of whether I become bored before whoever still reads this crap finally switches off.

Other distractions? I am about to resign my "duty and obligation" position on the local moorings committee because they have finally pissed me off at the point where I have simultaneously found the limit of doing something as duty and obligation.

Guitar? Well, come on, nearly thirty years and still shit?

I have to continue learning Spanish if I am to keep option four alive. It may be all I have.

Maybe it's the time of year. Or maybe it's the time of life. I suppose I could switch that "thing" off, as many do, and stagger on in blissful ignorance. But then death would come as a surprise to me, as it does to them. And I wouldn't want that. I haven't come this far to find myself surprised by the sudden end of something I hadn't even noticed.

"You mean I'm dying? No one even told me I was born. I want another go."

"Sorry fella."