Forty-Something Years in Ninaland

Random Ramblings About Nothing…


Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

Much Ado About Nothing is a play by Shakespeare. It is funny and it is true, so true that it brings us down to our knees thinking that life is but a ridiculous puzzle with missing pieces that the dog ate and we will forever be searching for.

I wonder sometimes what I should write. What do you want to hear? I could talk about politics and how we may be entering a world war. It’s quite depressing but really true. I could lament about my personal problems like I haven’t lost a pound in a while. Or about my work, I think sometimes I should use bigger words. But if I use a word no one understands, then what’s the point?

What is the point of this I wonder?

I mean you must have better things to do than to read the rantings of this woman you hardly know. But you and me, we are not that different, are we? What do we want out of life? You ever sit around, just wondering what it is you want out of this thing we call life? You know, I’m sitting here at eleven o’clock at night, I have the TV on but muted. I’m watching The Daily Show but listening to some tunes on Spotify. Why do I need all of this stimulation? I have my computer on also, and I periodically check my phone because I’m waiting for a friend to text me.

Why all this song and dance with the technological toys and the muted TV? Don’t you see, it’s late at night and I’m alone. I’m really alone. I’m not lonely, but I’m not, not lonely. I keep all these distractions going so I don’t realize that in the end we will all die alone. How do you distract yourself?

So what am I rambling about? Sometimes I feel like I would be more articulate if I had a British accent. Doesn’t an English accent make people seem more intelligent or should I say intellectual?

Sometimes I think I should have a name like Valarie, or Veronica, I don’t know why with the V’s…It’s just so unique to have a name that starts with V. What’s your favorite letter? I would read the Encyclopedia Brittanica in the letter V section. Like Venezuela, doesn’t it seem like you have to be pretty if you are from Venezuela?

I was looking for the meaning of life the other day. I think I found it. I think we came here to love one another. I know, know, that is a huge revelation. How did I come up with that? But I mean really I don’t think there is much past love, or more than love, or other than love. Everything else is just some kind of game.

Photo by Farhan Siddicq on Unsplash

What are we playing? Have you ever played Cards Against Humanity? It’s a deliberately offensive and hilarious game. I think life is quite similar. The person with the most creative or funny answers wins the game. But what about the unfunny things in life, the ones we are afraid to talk about. The ones that are not hilarious but are just offensive. And what about your hand, how much you want to risk for it?

You’d think there was a point in all of this, all of this that I’m talking about, and maybe in this post itself. I wish I could say I had a grand agenda other than to explore things, say things, be things, be me. I wish I could circle around and make some astounding grandiose statement about our very existence. I got nothing.

I’m nervous, nervous that I have nothing valuable to share anymore. That there are only a number of things to be said in the universe and they have all been said. Can anyone say anything new? I think so, but what is new? It sometimes seems like it’s all the same story since the beginning of time. We just keep retelling the events as if they mean something different every time.

Sometimes I think every problem in the universe could be solved with chocolate. Yes, I’m serious. If everyone just shut up and took a taste of the brilliance of chocolate, wars might end, people might stop being so cruel to one another if they just shared a little chocolate. Is that inane? A little bit? Come on that is a pretty ridiculous thought and I wrote it down for everyone to read.

It’s raining outside, I love when it rains. It’s so serene as if the sky came down to tell us a story. I don’t like this recent ideology that we are headed towards doomsday. Yes, things are looking kind of ugly, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t still hope that good things can prevail.

Shakespeare said, “This life…it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

Do you ever wonder if you are the idiot trying to tell the tale of a story that means nothing after all? That we mean nothing after all. That we are mere specks in the universe.

But I can’t, and I won’t believe that. My life means something to me, I mean something to some people. I have to believe that I am something in order to go on. Because if this is all just a song and dance, with no purpose, then I won’t want to sing and dance. Maybe singing and dancing is the purpose of it all, along with some chocolate and a glass of red wine.

I would love to say that that is the answer. But there is no answer is here.

I forgot the question.

I forgot why I came into this room on to this computer to type words you would read. I forget sometimes that I have a face. I forget my hands are moving with my brain’s consent. I forget that this all conjecture.

That nothing and everything matters just as much as it doesn’t matter.

That whether I’m standing or sitting, the world will still spin and rotate. It will do this all without my consent. Without asking me my opinion. Do I want all of this? Do I want a life?

Yes, I say yes.

I’ve said enough, but what about all the things I haven’t said?


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