I used to think the reason to stick around was love, sex, or babies.

I have done some serious soul-searching and realized that I don't have one. A soul, that is. That was fucking scary and very depressing.

After a while, I realized that it's ok to not have a purpose in life. I mean, I'm not different in the grand scheme of things than say... a cockroach. Or if you prefer, a whale. Whales are nicer to compare onesself to, I guess.

But really, when I think about I'm just along for the ride on this great blue-green ball in the incomprehensibly vast universe.

So the way I see it, I had best be childlike and appreciate the magical little things I don't understand. Like... nature. And how humans make such cool connections called friendship. And how we cope with the ones we can't choose, like family.

And BUBBLES. Soap bubbles rock. And apple pie and little kids smiling at something you did. And making people laugh. and books.

When I think too hard about things, I get depressed. Like... how many trees were cut down to make that edition of that book? How many chemicals pollute the watershed by making those bubbles?

But when I think of the little wonders and not much else, I'm fine. Oh, and avoid watching the news. I guess that's all I have on the subject.