Not today.

Not today.

I take another deep swig of my Languedoc and ponder. What do I really expect to get from this? Is this a nonsensical rambling, or is there some substance to the words I write? Is there meaning and worthiness? Could I inspire a generation with these words? Could they amount to anything?

I doubt it. I think it's the same question everybody asks themselves when they begin writing (or rewriting again). What do you really hope to achieve? It seems the internet is a huge get-out clause these days. Somewhere to unload, unwind and piss out all the shit that clings to your chest pitifully. Because nobody knows who you are, do they? And nobody knows if it's really about them or not, do they? Or do they? You're not sure. Who is? Doubtless there is very little point to what is ever written anywhere, but that's not always a bad thing - don't, for a minute, get me wrong. After my umpteenth glass of this European tipple, I feel like I can write without so much as a worry. I could type for miles. I don't think much of it would make sense, and I'm almost certain most of it would contradict itself, but this is how my mind works. I'm prepared to question everything.

Are you? Or do you follow through life blindly, lapping up everything that everybody else says? Wistful, that's all you'll be. DO YOUR OWN THING FOR A CHANGE. I can't emphasise this enough. Life is far too short and the uncertainty after death is enough to scare most people into being Death's sitting duck. They just do as they're told and fall in line, more automaton than autonomous. Don't be afraid of upsetting people, for fuck's sake, because they won't matter when you're dead and gone.

I know life is scary. Just when you think you've got it all, it's gone. I know this too well and the readjustment into everyday life once it has gone is bewildering and despairing. I will get there though, and so will you. The late playwright Eugene O'Neill once said that life is perhaps best regarded as a bad dream between two awakenings, and I can't help but agree. And Mark Twain once said, "I was dead for millions of years before I was born and it never inconvenienced me a bit," so why should death?

The point I'm trying to make is that life is short. Go. Enjoy it. Do what you've always dreamed of. Only death will stop your regrets if you don't. As scary as death is, or as much as you may want it when you're too depressed to carry on, do you know what I say? I croak over the top of my final swig of this French poison: not today. No way.