Cute little bastard

My closest confidant quips "you are never happy" regarding me and my weekly rants. I always quietly respond internally with "if I have nothing to strive for then I might as well be dead." I believed this to be true, wholeheartedly for most of my life. It was my understanding that the gift of life was not pure existence it was the unravelling journey of discovery. The endless opportunity to grow, change and challenge. I mean how can one be content if they have not experienced it all? How can ignorance be bliss? Are those gratified islands of peace truly satisfied or are they clothed in fear of what they might find behind door number 2? I love being in the moment and am becoming rather skilled at recognizing and bathing in it. But I see those moments as accomplished blocks building towards a new discovery. And failure doesn't deter me. I welcome her in at least once a day. She teaches me as much as any moment of solitude or stillness. Then I wonder, is it my ego that pushes forward? Am I unconsciously ticking off boxes and building new lists in an attempt to avoid my reality. Or worse, to impress the droves and drones...those passing souls and their musical listings of social norms. I am surely passing that stage but worry often if I've been propagandized into a incoherent submission. The sun is out and my skin is burning with it. Blue skies obliterate all memories of grey. I am putting water on the ground where it pour relentlessly for the past 8 months. Maybe longer. The days pass all the same. I am not lonely or pained. I recognized cracks in my skin like blueprints drawing memories of time. Mimicking the frail mitts of my mother as I remember her washing, washing, washing. Always working. Always strong in their delicateness. I saw a bird today. I think she was me. She was gloriously free but as confused as could be. Cute little bastard. I take five breaths now before I think of where to go. That's more than two.