So, okay, I have a very odd bump in my palm. My palm's pregnant. Lil' devil's been there for months. Should've worn gloves, I guess, while hand-shaking. Doesn't really hurt, kinda' growing used to it, ready to nick-name it. My lil' bump buddy.
"Stark-Raving Terror," I think, is more appropriate, though.
My smarter than hell wife says I need to go have it looked at. Her dumber than crap husband says, "Yeah, I'm thinking about it, but I'd rather worry, fret, and contemplate the possible horrors ahead. Envision the worst possible scenario. But..."
There's always a "but." Here's why...I'd MUCH rather not know the truth if I'm dying. 'Cause, face it, if you're dying and you know it, you're gonna' start doing stupid stuff like jumping off bridges on a bunji cord and yelling crazy things in airports and eating at Taco Bell all the time and flipping off policemen and harassing Sean Penn and ....well, I could go on. I guess that's why "Bucket List" has become ingrained in the popular lexicon now. People start doing dumb things 'cause they know they're dying.
I prefer the "ignorant bucket." It's a bucket you can continually dig into, has a bottomless pit, and you can wallow in it, convincing yourself you're not dying. It's comfy in here, gang. Come join me, just don't leave, and bring your sand shovels.
Is it better to experience insane life experiences, knowing you're gonna' die? Or is it better to play the ignorant fool, not heeding bodily warnings?
I prefer to play the ignoramus. I don't know, but in my bucket-tunneled-vision eyes, it seems like a MUCH better choice than rushing life experiences onto a list. There's always tomorrow. Right? RIGHT? COME ON, RIGHT?
Then again, could just be, I dunno, a weird harmless growth.
Discuss and debate.