“You’re forty years old and you haven’t done shit with your life.”

She told me.

Actually, painfully, the oldest refrain in the book.
What is a life. What is it worth.

How does one go about doing shit with one’s life?
Do you buy shit?
Marry shit, drive shit, eat shit, spawn shit, accumulate certificates of shit you can hang on your wall, stuff your resume with shit…how is the proverbial shit thus extricated from your life’s anal orifice and thrust upon your materialistic existence in order to give life value. Meaning.

Shit is ever-present.

You can buy shit on credit. You can work your ass off to procure more shit.
If you are extremely forward-thinking and ambitious, you can devote yourself, when young, to a lifelong habit of making shit the embodiment of your life’s singular goal.
You can pile layers and reams of shit upon shit, and when you discover it’s not enough because your peers have outshitted you, you pile on more.

The shit, stacked so high and vainly hoisted to towering heights in the hope your shit measures up, and in fact, that it overshadows all other shit.
In his post on marriage, Roissy scientifically bred a hybridized word which defines the shit-collecting, shit-earning, shit-displaying, paradigm. corporaglobomilitaryeducationalswplstatuswhoring he called it.

So you do shit with your life.

Of course I’m playing stupid.

It’s patently obvious.
The gist of such a pointed accusation.
Many times, playing stupid is the most effective tool you have in the process of making a point.
You must sink in order to rise.

You haven’t done shit with your life.
From an attitude of shitfullness.
Youthful shitfullness.
When shit awaits, when the unbridled promise of shit awaits your rosy future. The day when you can look back and proudly assess your shit-filled life.

Drill sergeant, materialistic non-mindfulness.

Materialism, not merely in the sense of cars and houses and i-Phones.
No, materialism also in the sense of legacy and breeding and self-purveyed illusion that one has attained shit. The frenetic and herdish rush to fulfill the shit matrix, the shit expectations, to finally reach a state in which you can “proudly” bask in your shit attainments.

A question of purpose.
Goals are secondary to purpose.

In our culture, in our Western Judeo-Christian world, solemn sense of purpose is more important than the goal.

It’s not the shit.
It’s the drive to get shit.

It’s the path to multiplying personal shit, and hence, deriving personal and comparative value through one’s own aspirations…to shitdom.

I have done shit with my life.

The discussion is misguided.
It’s not my life which should be under discussion.

It’s the shit.