February 1, 1999
My Choice in Life
This weekend makes me question my approach to life and existence. I don't know exactly why, but it seems natural to just stop along the walk of life and not merely bend down to smell the roses, but to look at the roses and the grass and the clouds and the road and any signs on the road telling you how far it is to Chicago. This metaphor plays out so often, and it always comes out in the frame Frost put it: "Two roads diverged in a wood and I. . ."
So what two roads did I have to choose between? Well, I ask myself with already knowing the answer, "Why do I not spend my times at graffiti parties and sign women's nipples with felt-tip pens all the while drinking so neither me and the women remember anything just so we can do it again a week later sans guilt or moral prerogative or do I spend time in a ruckus debate over whether Sylvester and Tweety should win all the while forcefully inspiring me to debate and answer the mysteries of life, love, and friendship?"
Tough choice?