Danse Macabre

Well, they say a weekend wasted is never a wasted weekend. I disagree. This life we are given is rather short and we really ought to make it as worthwhile as we can – surely we have a responsibility to create some meaning to it all. Aren’t we supposed to leave a beneficial impression of our lives when we leave this place? Something more than just the boosted profits of the various alcohol victuallers and tobacco purveyors?

Sadly, I have made little contribution to the tapestry of social wellbeing this weekend, and I don’t feel terribly proud of anything I have done. I have been relentlessly cruel to my liver and other organs, as well as being abusive and uncaring towards my diminishing financial resources. Where are the great works of literature that I’m meant to be producing? Where is the art? Where is the inner purity and clarity of mind that I claim to be seeking? What is the point of trotting along to Buddhism classes every week, only to discharge the precepts in the swirl of a wineglass and summarily to reject the teachings by wanton abandonment between the sheets? Where is the value in that?

Far from leaving a meaningful impression on this yearning planet, the only thing this weekend’s activities are likely to leave from me is a rather nasty stain. I am dancing with the angels of oblivion here. Methinks it’s time for some reassessment. Time for action.