I am accustomed to existential crises. They come on me semi-annually, at the solstices for some reason. Maybe the symmetry of day and night unbalance me. I start to think of the vastness of space and the infinity of time and how I'm just here for such a miniscule part of that. For a couple of weeks I'll have moments when my gut tightens and I contemplate life and meaning, then I shake it off and move on.
This latest one has stayed, however. I'll be working or washing dishes or watching birds and I get this glimpse of the abyss, the realization that on the time scale of the universe, in the blink of an eye I will be, at best, a faint memory or a name on the back of a photograph.
The internet is no less finite than my life, but it should live on for a while. Rather than write in notebooks which may or may not be read (either for lack of interest or indecipherable handwriting) I can do a blog. I suppose it is a bit egotistical to put your life story on the web - but don't we all want to think that who and what we are will live on for a little while?
