I finally got home and

I finally got home and R put everyone to bed. I headed
straight for my tub and a Lucky magazine. After such brain usage today, I wanted
something a little more superficial to hang my hat on. So, I tubbed and caught
up on the latest fashions. Later, when it was safe to come out, I slipped into
my pajamas and got into bed with my latest book: How Should We Then Live?. My
eyes were heavy as I finished up the Middle Ages. I know that I am mortal. I
know that I am going to breathe my last, but I had one of those moments where I
was acutely cognizant of my own finite life. I will die and be gone from this
life, remembered by a few and chronicled by even less. It doesn't bother me that
I haven't made such a great mark on the face of history. It seems that the
people whom the backs of history strode upon weren't the ones with eloquent
speech or an excess of talent; it was those who got up everyday and did what had
to be done. Doing over and over the same tasks takes great self-discipline and
strength. I struggle many times to see the magnificent in the monotonous. Maybe
I need to realize this isn't a win or lose fight; a competition of wit and wile.
Maybe it is, but my mind deceptively fights the very things that are making me
who I am, that are putting me in the timeline of life.