I have a friend who absolutely loves lists. Arrange a group of random items in a single-file, alphabetical or numerical, by order or importance or stupidity (it doesn’t matter), and she’s as happy as Viagra salesman at a lingerie party.
My experience with lists is a series of dreaded encounters, none of which increased my joy or happiness. The majority of these lists consisted of tasks I was required to perform or items to purchase. Both of which rendered a feeling of helplessness. Here I was, a slave to a piece of paper—couldn’t wipe my butt with having one in my hand.
But age has a way of making a man look at things differently. After awhile, you quit counting the years you’ve lived and start a lottery pool on how many you have left. This is a heavy burden on the mind of many. Thankfully, I only have a mind of one.
The popularity of the “bucket list” hit a home run with a lot of Baby Boomers. I’m usually one to buck the system, but with the Mayan calendar bearing down on us like a racehorse in the home stretch, I decided to devote my remaining time to the betterment of humanity—including myself. Here, in no particular order, is my list;
Well, that’s probably more than I can get accomplished in a day and a half, so we’ll stop here. I hope this list inspires you to consider your pending mortality and what you hope to accomplish while still in the flesh. Best wishes for a speedy and painless demise.
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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