the meaning of life

My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, and no meaning; and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right? ---Charles M Schultz

So this week brought about the hatching of mass quantities of teeny, tiny, little green gnats; gnats so tiny that they fit right through the holes in my screens! They flew in great swarms all around my apartment, up into the recessed lighting in the ceiling, where they were propmtly fried by the light bulbs. Then they rained down like volcanic ash all over everything I own; they fell on the computer keyboard, the bookcases, on the freshly washed dishes drying in the dish-rack, on the coffee table. Fortunately, I had the foresight to leave the lights over the bed OFF, but my lovely white canvas IKEA sofa looked like it was grey tweed (their little bug bodies, while green when alive, turn black when deceased)

Then the spiders came. They were psyched! They clearly thought I had opened up some kind of arachnoid all-you-can-eat-buffet. Normally, I don't mind sharing my place with a spider or two. I really liked Charlotte, so I figure her friends are ok, too. But when they try to take over the place, its time to put your foot down. I had to break out the big guns -- the vacuum cleaner.

And as I vacuumed up tiny little insect carcasses, I thought about how lucky I am to have been born -- you know-- a HUMAN, rather than an insect with a lifespan of less than 24 hours. I can only hope that my life has a little bit more meaning, as well. (You never can tell though. Remember "Horton Hears a Who"? Maybe we are the ones whose lives are insignificant and those gnats actually accomplished something grand) Well, before getting sucked up a vacuum hose.