Existential

As I get older (is there anything more boring than that phrase: "As I get older?" Wisdom is presumed to attend to the process, to be imparted to the reader, but it seems no more likely than those monkeys with their typewriters banging out Shakespeare: i.e., possible, but unlikely) I start to feel the passing days with greater urgency, and with that urgency, the sense that I have wasted something precious.

Today, I played "Card Wars," advancing into the top 10 of my bracket, cleaned the kitchen (only to promptly dirty it again), washed some dishes, ate dinner with my wife, drank a couple glasses of wine, read a not-insignificant portion of the internet, attended to a few tasks that needed doing at work, thought about music and writing, thought about how time is passing, thought about how little I've accomplished in this life, and felt bad about that. 

Earlier, on the walk from the train to my home, I watched a dog with three legs hop gamely down the sidewalk after his owner, a look of happiness on his little doggy face as he enjoyed the late afternoon sunshine, and I thought, "What does it all mean?"