Call me wicked, call me wasteful, tell me I’m lazy and self-indulgent, but I refuse – REFUSE – to feel guilty about enjoying my life.
If like has a purpose, what is it? Is death like an audit – having to account for and justify every moment spent, every dollar? Is frivolity against the law?
Until it is, I’m not going to apologize for spending days having fun adventures just for the heck of it. I’m not going to apologize for eating lobster for lunch and candy for breakfast.
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| Sorry, Mr Lobster, nothing personal, but your kind is very delicious… |
I suppose I could be washing the dishes, but if I’d rather paint my nails right now instead, then so be it. I also count myself very lucky to have a partner in life who also believes in enjoying it instead of fretting about it.
If I’ve learned anything in 27-and-a-half years, it’s that life is short. Someday, all of a sudden, it’s just over. Should I then feel guilty about all that I could have accomplished? Maybe. But I think it’s far more likely that I’ll regret not enjoying it more while it lasted. And that’s just me.
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