I've been reading a series of books. I accidentally started on the 4th book in the series which was labeled as "book 1" but which is actually book 1 of the second series. So I went back and bought the three books in the first series and started reading the REAL first book while finishing the 4th. The series follows one character through childhood, youth, and into middle age. Having accidentally skipped ahead I'm relatively impressed with the fact that the author manages to write the character as getting older so effectively. Something I might have missed had I not started reading them out of order.
Anyway, the point is that the author got me to thinking about my own mortality. About what getting old is... and me wondering how much longer until I really start feeling it? I'm young yet. I'm still reasonably healthy (and working on making myself more so)....
Well, anyway. It's an unfinished thought. Just a trickle of this and that all winding together to make me wonder... yet again... what am I doing with my life? Work, marriage, sex, play... nothing's quite how I want it....
Just thoughts. Half formed thoughts.
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