Because I never did things in the right order.
Spending ones late teens and early twenties subsisting in a state of existential nihilism is a big waste of time. I know that time machines were not made within my lifetime because I would have gone to 18 year old me (conundrums for past/present/future self aside), given me a good shake and said "stop wasting your time, live, Live, LIVE! All this pondering and internal stewing will not serve you better than exploring life externally as well. Get out of this room, pull on these shoes and go forth!"
I need to walk so far it will be too tiring to get back, to read to the point that words are being recognized but not understood, to look directly into someones eyes and smile, to laugh until my ribs ache, to make love under the stars, to watch the sun rise over a horizon untouched by habitation and to liberate the reverberating rage threatening to seep between the cracks; a festering and pullulating mass, lest it find release in a tumultuous -and potentially regrettable- tsunami of angst.
This is a list, I shall work on ticking the things off. One at a time. The reading one seems the most feasible with my looming thesis submission. Perhaps I will want to look into someones eyes again, maybe it will make me smile. Tickling counts, I shall get a friend to tickle me, I will laugh. If tickled sufficiently, my ribs will ache. One day I will walk too far, it will take me to that dream sunrise. If I go alone, the silent scream within will die. If I don't, the stars shall see our bottoms. Why am I not taking this more seriously? Maybe I should.
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