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In a shack near the beach, a retired shopkeep plays the most masterful game of chess anyone will have known against a man from Brussels who is known for little more than his dreadlocks and his cheer.

At a university library, surrounded by chattering peers and the clacking of keys, a female student realizes she'd rather spend her life growing potatoes and raising pigs, but the dream is dashed when she realizes shes too pretty for that, and no one would understand.

At a highly publicized games tennis tournament in London, two ball boys play the most intense match of the season, their weary, wiry forms dashing up and down the field, their footfalls echoing off of the empty bleachers. No one will have seen it, but they are both too sweaty and satisfied to pay heed.

In New Zealand, a fire destroys a small cabin, ending the life of a wizened old man and his favorite sheepdog. His novel burns, page by page. No digital copies exist. It would have been a cornerstone of 21st century literature.

In a small harbor in the Maritimes, a young boy finds a bottle washed ashore. Inside is a note, and a Polaroid picture of a happy little girl making a sand castle. The girl will have died years ago of a broken hip, the boy doesn't know this, and smiles as he works through the sounds of the note, mouthing the words slowly.

In a tent in the mountains, a happy couple does things they know they wouldn't dare do at home. They cry, not because they are sad or afraid, but because it feels so good to be themselves. Their parents think the boys are fishing.

In a field in Greece, the soft whistle of the grasses emulates a tune that will not be put on paper for another hundred years, but was once fancied by a minstrel in the French court, decades ago. It has no name, then or ever.

In a diner in Texas, a 40 something war vet stands and leaves as an Arabic family enters. His peers mutter under their breath about racism and shell shock. They don't see the note on the table, the only open table, that reads "I'm so sorry" and rests upon a hundred dollar bill, or his coffee steaming, untouched.

In a quiet apartment in Toronto, a delivery man dons his worn robe, and slouches into his dusty old recliner. The TV takes a minute to flicker on. The newscaster announces the breaking news of the hour, not telling any of the important stories.

Bed

I often feel like simply giving in and letting myself slide away from sanity, sidle up to that seductive hidey hole and crawl in to die.

This feels like the best course at the worst of times, and a pleasant diversion at the best.

Thus far I can see little reason not to, save that no one else seems to feel the same.

The last thing I need is another reason to be abnormal.

Or maybe the last thing I need is to worry about it.

I venture outside to find a flock of stoners toshing about. I have mixed feelings about this.

On the one hand, I long to be as they are, ignorant of the greater questions, and giggling incoherently at some slapstick Hollywood tripe.

On the other, I despise them for the ease of their existence. I always told myself I would be above them, smarter, more successful, and now I find myself on the verge of dropping down to their pace, following the path of mental exsanguination at a job I loathe simply to stay afloat.

I know I could do better, I know I could have done better, but I can't drag myself from the comforting warmth of apathy and laze.

The work isn't what is killing me, nor the effort. It's the temptation to be less than I want battling the urge to do more than just be.

And now the only thing keeping me afloat *unfortunately, away from restful solace at that* is the blinking black bar on what I find to be one of my few useful respites.

Perhaps I'll slip into something more comfortable.

Understanding

I don't claim to be omniscient (often) nor even more qualified than anyone else to judge highly philosophical issues like purpose and meaning in everyday life.

However, I'd like to think I can generally understand the difference between living and breathing. I'm not so much talking about fulfilling the other segments of polite life, such as mastication and procreation, but the finer points, stress level, human contact, sometimes even a proverbial (or literal) brew or two.

Now, the difference is far from stark, or sedentary, and in fact, far from reason. A wise man once said, "happiness is nothing if you've no one to share it with", where as another wise man once said, "when you are happy, the last thing you need is people to snoz it all up." I disagree, on both fronts. Solidarity and solitary are the words of the day, being unified in compartmentalization. The issue at hand is balance, not philosophy.

Can on be happy without any drama, without argument? Can one be happy with it? Of course, that begs the greater question can on be happy at all... But I digress. People are required of any great leader, and owing to the fact that I'm always right, we shall assume that is one way to be truly happy. The issue comes not in removing oneself from the public, or from immersing oneself wholly into their sphere, but in managing their presence and reconciling it with your own mentality, ability, and most importantly, temperament.

One must first learn how to surrender personal rights and personal space, in doing so, one allows the entry of alien concepts and objects into ones lifestyle.

Second, one must learn their compatriots personal habits and ideals, and thus avoid stomping too hard on the toes of a boot poised to strike one's rear.

Third, one must learn to reconcile the major differences in these lifestyles, from sleep cycle to spending habits.

Once you have those locked down, the manipulation and extortion begins.

That is, unless you take the less manly Machiavellian route, and choose love, in which case, make cookies often, and pass the remote when the sad little man beside you fails to teef it from your serpent quick hands.

One may or may not spice this with cleanliness, generosity, and repeated inclusion of the aforementioned civilians in any and all diabolical and semi-legal plans for world domination.

That, my friends, is how to reconcile men with different talents, temperaments, and convictions, and allow a truly egalitarian and civil society, at least in the microcosm of flat mates.

I worry

We, my friends, face an absolutely astonishing and unique problem, as a society.

We've dealt with plagues, wars, riots, the wonders and blunders of science. We've survived ages of intense cold, poverty, or ignorance and come out all the stronger for it. We have survived in the face of quite literally the worst things ever to happen.

I am unsure how we will face this new(ish) threat.

You see, where before life was a game of numbers, survival, sacrifice and longing, it has been warped and twisted by our new sedentary lifestyles. We seek attention rather than shelter, entertainment rather than food, and most importantly, self worth above benefiting our tribe/family/king/god.

There are still parts of the world dealing with issues we lucky few see as backwards and ridiculous, but soon enough we will all reach the level of quiet boredom and complacency that the western world revels in.

We, my deliciously perceptive people, are boring our society to death. Everything we do is for the sake of bringing the rest of the world to speed, or quelling our constant nagging need to be occupied. We research space exploration, we research new crops and diplomatic solutions. We research ways to make our lives longer, and ways to bring the light of technology to every mud stricken shanty in the world. We spend billions of dollars on these rather noble endeavors every year.

We spend trillions on television. On designer shoes, and game systems. Magazines, candy, and carnival rides. We put so much effort into amusing ourselves that we often lose sight of just how great an issue that is.

Putting aside arguments of "Oh, but we deserve some entertainment, and we earned a break 8 hours of every day, minus commute plus weekends." think for a moment just how mind boggling the proportions are. Think of how much of our attention we devote to distracting ourselves compared to how much we spend grooming, improving, or aiding. Think of how anyone two hundred years ago would have spent their day, and then how long it would take them to do all that today.

Gathering food went from a weekend hunt to a ten minute stop at the local market. Making light went from dipping candles all day to a flick of the switch. Survival went from a prime directive to an afterthought, and I for one worry that without the threat of extinction we will become too satisfied with our sedentary selves, and grind our society's expansion to a screeching halt.

We do research, we explore and invent, and improve, but how long before the last shreds of expansive research are diverted to letting us squeeze a few more years of World of Warcraft out of ourselves and shaving a few more minutes off of our commute.

I'm more concerned with our societial viability than my own mortality, and that, I think, should say something.