Existential crisis

A-Friend has this uncanny ability to put me in touch with my intuition. Not sure how she does it, but after some time in her company, I have this urge to contemplate a topic of conversation we had. This usually leads to contemplation on issues that, in my twisted mind, branch off from it.

On Friday one of the branches lead to me contemplating my existence. I don’t want to believe in reincarnation because I don’t want to have to come back to earth and do this whole living thing again. My soul is old and wants to retire. The next time the soul train pulls out of the heavenly station, I’ll be sitting in the nearby park with my magic-porridge-pot cappuccino and the latest Stephanie Plum novel. Yes, that’s right, Janet Evanovich will be spending her afterlife writing an everlasting supply of hysterical crime novels for me to enjoy. And Matthew McConnaughey will keep making movies where he takes his shirt off.

But I had a revelation. This time around, I think I’m supposed to say a gentle good-bye to the world, cos this is my last trip. This is the trip when I’ll leave my mark on the world (thinking more along the line of literarily – may this blog be testament to my existence – not really passing on DNA to another generation).

This would explain why, at 31, I’m still single and childless and not really unhappy about it. Or all it really explains is that I’m full of shit and have issues with intimacy and rejection.