Pit Stop
For some, the journey of life is a stroll in the park or, perhaps, a picnic walk in the woods just beside the safety of their home, sweet home. For others, it is a bash through wild, demon-haunted jungles or a perilous trek up a glacial mountain, with never a moment of rest and the threat of death around every corner. For myself, born neither the scion of an excessively wealthy dynasty nor the bastard offspring of a crack whore in a war-torn, natural disaster-ridden land, life is perhaps a kayak trip down an uncharted river; sometimes calm rowing, sometimes hanging on for dear life through unexpected rapids and occasionally, crashing on unseen rocks around a sudden bend.

I find life to be difficult, but only because I am not content to be swept along on the river of time by the currents of random events like so much flotsam on the surface of the waters. Instead, I am compelled, by some obscure quixotic urge perhaps, to foolishly paddle furiously against the current and explore tributaries that have seldom been explored. This often results in my kayak running aground on unexpectedly shallow waters, or going over waterfalls when I fail to notice the sound while having lunch on the boat. Occasionally, however, it results in finding unexpected treasure, like a cave full of hot, female ninja-pirates with frikkin' lasers attached to their eyepatches.

At this moment, however, I have found myself a nice, calm pool close to shore, and I am safely drifting along. It is so peaceful that I have even invited some friends onto my boat to have lunch with me. One nagging doubt that plagues me, though, is that distant roaring sound emanating from the western horizon, where the sun is setting in the misty cloud. What the deuce could that be? Oh well, that is a problem for another day, one that my inestimable intellect and indomitable will shall no doubt overcome. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. For now, have some tea, and meditate on the beauty of life.  ¶
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