Or, I don't want to...
More realistically I don't know what I want to do... at least I'm pretty sure what I want to do is impossible. Or so it seems to me.
Why am I writing about the way I've not been, not had discipline, etc?
I'm reading Lumpy's country roads and find I'm pretty much the inverse of any sort of following the teaching of shaolin or any other method of good living....
When I look at myself in that sort of light, it is easy to wonder how I've managed not to shoot my toes off, because I certainly don't aim much further than that and even then I rarely avoid the pits of despond which line both sides (and the middle) of my path through life thus far.
Or iow life is miserable and I expect hell if there's an after life.