Narrows of the Heart...eth

Today has been a very remarkable day indeed. 

It began with Amanda and I having a small debate about grabbing something to eat. Funds are tight, so something as simple as "actually going somewhere" for food sometimes requires a bit of foresight and planning. We decided it is okay to occasionally live a little (in responsible moderation of course), so off to the local pizza joint we went.

The food was fantastic. The Wi-Fi? Fast and reliable. We caught up on some Star Wars YouTube videos as we ate our greasy little slices of Heaven. As we were getting ready to grab our to-go box for later consumption (the pizza not the box), the waitress informed us that the sheriff's department had already paid for everyone's meal. Both of us immediately started to tear up, because not only would it help ease the worry over spending money, but also because of how awesome that generous act of holiday kindness actually was. (We're both softies. Shut up.)

Our hearts and spirits suddenly full, we spontaneously decided to go somewhere we hadn't been before, but just so happens to be only a few miles down the road from the house. There is a historic state park called Narrows of the Harpeth (probably worth a Google), where in the early 1800’s one of America’s very first full-scale tunnels was dug out from beneath a limestone cliff, thus diverting the river in order to power an iron foundry.

♫“There’s a hole, there’s a hole, there’s a hole in the bottom of this cliff.”♫

These days it is a popular spot for canoeing and hiking (also presumably for some steamy, middle-of-the-woods-makin’-out-before-the-crazy-axe-murderer-finds-you), so we figured a nice walk somewhere new would be a great way to complete the day. First, we hiked down to the historic tunnel itself.

And took the obligatory selfie. My glasses, however, didn’t get the memo.

Golly, that sure is a lot of water gushing out of that hole. I bet every living creature that comes near this spot has a sudden urge to pee. (*Not pictured.)

Oh, hey, you know what would be even more exciting? Climbing all the way to the top of that precarious-looking cliff which has had tons of water rushing beneath it for the last two centuries!

We’ve only gone like ten steps and already this is the view. We’re definitely going to feel this later.

So up we went. And up. And up. We looked around for the escalator, but there were none to be found.

This is what happens when you buy the cheap tickets.

Yeesh how much higher does this thing go? We probably should have read all of those posted warnings at the start of the trail. Still, I have to tell you, the view up here was phenomenal.

No, really, phen-om-en-al.

Just for the record, we’re not even at the top yet.

Quitting is for losers, but it can also sometimes lead to better health. Dude, I’m just a caption, not a life coach. You do you, boo.

Whew, at this point we’re definitely feeling the burn, but wow was it ever worth the effort! Also, exercise n' stuff! Whoo!

Sadly, she couldn’t see her house from here.

Eventually, what climbs up, must climb all the way back down. But first, a snack!

Yes, both of the sides you see are sheer drops. It's called Narrows for a reason, people. Perfect for high-altitude apple tossing, though.

Eventually, Amanda caught on that I was sneakily taking her picture every few seconds, so I promised to put the camera away as we descended back to base camp- er, I mean the parking lot. But obviously we made it back down safely, because otherwise, who’s writing this? I mean, I’m good, but I'm not that good.

The point is, we probably wouldn’t have been inspired to have an adventure at all had it not been for the seemingly random kindness from some strangers. A small gesture, perhaps- yet one that completely changed the course of the day. There is always something worth seeing, if you simply choose to see it. You don’t even have to go hiking to find it.

Although hiking couldn't hurt, except maybe physically.

Oh, p.s. Amanda says hi, everyone.

A Slightly-Used Story

There is something intrinsically magical about purchasing an old book from a second-hand shop. The alluring, musty smell of age, the tattered, worn edge, the ink printed, not on a glowing screen, but permanently inscribed upon an actual page.
   There are other things, too, that tell a story besides the content contained between the covers. Sometimes, a hastily inked scribble adorns the first page, binding the book to a former owner. Perhaps the pages are stamped with the name of an unfamiliar library from a faraway town, or a forgotten, discarded bookmark has taken up residence.
   Why did someone highlight this passage? What meaning did it hold for them?
   Even a blotch of spilled soup upon a page tells of an event.
   Better are the written letters, jotted down when the book was once given as a present, which simultaneously tells the sad story of a gift departed and a brief, personal history lesson. Am I intruding upon an intimate moment by reading words meant for someone else?
   Old books hold such wonder for me. I do like my modern e books for their wondrous technological gadgetry, and once I would have considered them the superior medium for literary consumption, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve fallen back in love with the actual printed word, for many of the reasons listed above.
  Books are time capsules, both from a past writer to an unknown reader in an unknown future, but also the physical book itself can hold tantalizing clues as to its worldly travels.

A recent discovery on the back page of a book I just purchased.
I wonder if the original recipient actually read to the end?

Such are we, too, like books. We contain stories within us, yet we are also adorned with the remnants of our travels. Like any good tale, our lives will keep a reader utterly captivated, eagerly wondering how the story will unfold.
   As I go throughout the story of my own life, I often imagine the current events being narrated in print form. Even when I’m agonizing at the lowest parts, I realize a reader would, at that very moment, be leaning ever closer to the page. The reader knows (even as I doubt) that the story will turn out happy in the end, if only both of us has the patience to read on, to keep turning the pages, to see how the tale plays out.
  So now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a page to turn...and to write.

Not Another Cancer Story (Intro)

The following is a sneak preview of the introduction to an ebook I'm currently writing.  Please note that this is merely a rough draft, and most certainly subject to change. All content protected under U.S. Copyright law.

Dating is hard enough even in the best of times. Now, imagine being in your 30’s, a bald, unemployed, single mother with only one boob. Oh, did I mention you also get to have Cancer? Maybe I should have led with that.

   Applications for serious boyfriend now being accepted! Interviews are on a first come, first served basis! Come experience the amazing Unaboob! (*Limited time offer while the supply lasts.)

   Uh, hello? Is anyone out there? Maybe I need to go print some more fliers.

   Ahem.

   Oh, hi there, reader! I should probably explain exactly who I am and the purpose of this book. A few years ago, my sister was diagnosed, battled, and eventually succumbed to breast cancer. This is a horrible fate suffered by many women (men, too) and quite a few books have been written on the topic. Most of these, however, seem to thrive on such survival tropes as: “if it wasn’t for the support of my loving husband” or “fortunately we had plenty of funds set aside to…”

   Well, you get the idea. What the Cancer-survival books niche was missing was something written from the perspective of a single mom who struggled, as many single mothers do, with raising a kid, having an argumentative ex, competing to be the “cool mom,” trying to date, and not having nearly enough money to survive and provide for her family. Then of course you add the extra garnish of chemotherapy, hair loss, radiation treatments, depression, constant sickness, a mastectomy, on top of all of those other stressful things, and behold, you have the recipe for a much-needed book that, to my knowledge, didn't seem to exist. (Maybe it was just on back order.)

   The point is, there was an apparent trend throughout all of the books we found in those days: the survivors seemed to have a few advantages. The other patients, those poor struggling mothers who were no less deserving of survival, didn’t seem to be represented. Did they, too, beat the odds? What words of wisdom, hope, and inspiration did they have for my family?

   The answer soon hit us: we would have to write such a book ourselves. I would offer my services as a wanna-be writer to help compose the book, Steph would offer her own candid insights and perspective, and we would infuse the book with a lot of warmth and humor. Yes, it’s okay to laugh at tragedy, just so long as it isn't mean-spirited. We were raised to laugh at ourselves and bad situations, since wallowing in abject misery is not nearly as much fun.  (Of course we may swerve over the line of irreverence here and there, but that's just how we roll, y'all.)

   Sadly, that book was never meant to be. Steph passed away in January of 2010, without a single word having been written. However, she did keep a diary, some of which is presented in the pages that follow.

   I’ve debated writing this book for many years. Somehow it never seemed right to continue with that original concept, as the one who actually went through the ordeal is no longer around to speak for herself. Instead, I’ve decided to write a biography of sorts, one in which I hope to serve two purposes: to honor her life, and maybe be the book that someone else needs to read someday. (There’s definitely a niche out there, and I feel you. I won’t make you wait for back order.)

   Some of the following will be in her own words, but most of the content will be from my own perspective, written from memory, blog entries, and conversations with other family members. It goes without saying that any errors contained within will definitely be my own, and I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. As you might imagine, it was (and is) an emotional subject.

   Yes, our hero dies in the end. (I wish, more than anything, I could have written a better ending for this tale.) However, even in sadness, there can be great hope. After all, there were many years prior full of life, experiences, and laughter, some of which are included here. Of course, condensing an entire life into a relatively tiny narrative doesn’t really do that life justice, but I’ll try to do the best that I can.

I might never have discovered my own writing voice had I not desperately needed a way to voice my own grief after you died.

So sis, this book is dedicated to you.

I hope it makes you proud.

After all, in this story, you’re the hero.

-Topher Graves, November 2018

Keep an eye out for the forthcoming ebook!

The Best Things In Life Are About $37: A Christmas Adventure

As a rule, I'm not a big fan of "obligatory" holidays.  You know the ones: those in which you are expected to buy gifts.  (These commercialized holidays just seem wrong to me for some reason.)  While they can certainly be enjoyable if you have both time and money, if you are lacking in either of these areas it can easily become more of a stressful chore as opposed to a Most Wonderful Time of the Year.  (For me, I'd be much happier not doing any gift exchange, and simply enjoy the season itself:  the food, the lights, the music, and friends/family.  But I digress.)

Today's story is about one particular Christmas Eve in which I had very little money, and most of the family (except my dad and I) were out-of-town.  I was over at his house after we both had gotten off of work, watching the Sci-Fi channel as was the tradition, when we decided to do something spontaneous.

We pooled our resources.  Between us, we had about $37.  After some quick calculation, we determined that was more than enough to do a Christmas Eve, middle-of-the-night road trip to Gatlinburg, TN.

Every winter, Gatlinburg and the surrounding areas go all-out on holiday decorating.  We had always talked about going, but it was usually difficult to coordinate.  Not to mention, potentially expensive.  Since this particular year would just be the two of us (building castles in the sky), and we wouldn't be able to do anything else anyway, we thought it would be a hoot to ride up there, cruise around a bit, maybe watch the sunrise over the mountains, and ride back.  We couldn't afford a room and they would probably be all booked anyway.  But we had enough for some gas!  ROAD TRIP!

So, we raided the kitchen for any snacks.  I brought my camera, two music CDs (the old radio didn't pick up any stations), and a few pillows and blankets.  We got into the rusty old Ford pickup, put the Brian Setzer Orchestra CD into the player to get us jump jivin' and wailin' (mostly wailin'), and began our memorable journey.

Roughly four fun hours of highway, stories, and some NSFW jokes later, we pull in to Pigeon Forge, the first big tourist trap before one gets to Gatlinburg.  There are NO cars to be seen on the road.  (Bear in mind, though, that it is nearly midnight so businesses are closed and most folks would be snoring away waiting for 'ole Saint Nick to perform a home invasion in the name of delivering materialistic, pointless crap to overly spoiled children.  Sorry, sorry.  I really do like this holiday, I promise.  Remember the pretty lights?)

Oh, it should be mentioned, there are NO lights on.  There are certainty some gigantic fixtures with bulbs on them, and they are EVERYWHERE, but they are turned OFF.  

Well...shit.

But hey, we are still having a wonderful time riding around instead of sitting in an empty house watching a Twilight Zone marathon, and the unlit fixtures are still pretty impressive ("I bet that really looks awesome when it is all lit up"), so hey, all-in-all it's a net win.  Plus, seeing Gatlinburg with ZERO traffic is a lottery-win rarity in and of itself.

Naturally, we want to drive up into the mountains, so we turn off of the main road and head up, and up, and up…  c'mon, old truck, you can make it!

The old truck made it.  We found an overlook where you could see the entire town miles below, a glittering jewel in the valley even with most of the Christmas lights switched off, and grabbing our blankets and pillows we dozed off for a few hours, silently hoping the cops wouldn't catch two grown men snoring away on Christmas Morning in a beat-up old Ford truck on the side of the road in an isolated spot in the mountains.  You can imagine how that awkward conversation might go, but I strongly prefer you didn't.

We awoke to one of the best sights ever recorded in my memory.  Sunrise over the mountains is a breathtaking event all by itself, but we had an added bonus:  it had snowed all around us.  It was merely a light dusting, but more than enough to be magical.  A White Christmas!  (If you dream about that sort of thing.)  The snow was only around the area where we were, too; it had not fallen down in the town itself.  Take that, town!  In your face!  (Or not, because it's in OUR faces.  Heyoo!)

Ahem.

After grabbing some convenience store breakfast consisting of Pecan Swirls, Doritos, and Mountain Dew (Get it?  Mountains?), we drove around a little in Knoxville since that was something else we rarely had a chance to do.  Eventually we headed back home, where the rest of my memory fades into obscurity.  

But that doesn't matter.  The road trip on that night of Christmas Eve, which cost only about $37 in gas, is to this day my favorite Christmas memory.

Also, I still have yet to see those damn lights actually turned on.  I bet they look pretty awesome when they are all lit up.

The Dreaming of Life

I dreampt I was near death and visited by an Angel.  I knew my end was at hand, but I needed to know what the purpose is to our mortal existence, so of course I asked.

The Angel did not speak, but I saw scenes flash inside my mind.  I expected to see the obligatory scenes of helping others and other acts of kindness, and certainly there were those, but other moments appeared that were, at first, unclear.  Moments of quiet inactivity-- some with myself and a co-worker, or watching a movie from the couch with a cat in my lap, there were even a few featuring insects.  The only thing these images seemed to have in common was that they all seemed rather random, highly varied, and otherwise seemed completely inconsequential.  This confused me.  After all, is it not for our actions that our worth and goodness is determined?

The Angel remained silent, leaving me to ponder this question.  After some time, I began to simply feel happy and content, merely by being in the presence of this divine entity, so I stopped worrying about the puzzling imagery.  It no longer seemed all that urgent.

It was with mild surprise that I realized that my question had actually been answered.  It was those moments where just being in my own company had brought light to another soul.  The happy cat purring in my lap while I was watching a movie, the coworker to whom I had just given some advice, even the bugs I had taken outside and freed rather than squishing outright.  There were quite a number of other small moments that I never thought of as a "big deal," but to someone else, they meant quite a bit more.

As I began to understand, I noticed that the Angel was smiling at me, just as I also began to realize this wasn't actually the end.

I awoke for the first time in ages well rested and content.  I also had a fresh understanding.  We don't have to be superheroes.  Each of us impacts others in ways we often don't realize.  An offhand comment, given with the intent of Love, still reverberates in the heart of the receiver.  An absent-minded scratch behind the ears may merely bring me a small moment of joy, but means everything to the family pet.  (In fact it is the highlight of her entire day.)  Even the rescued insect feels a great amount of relief when it is spared.  (Don't believe me?  Ask the bug.)

I guess the TL;DL version of this lesson is that simply being a being in which others find comfort shines a bit more light into the void, and the more light that each of us shines, the more easily we can chase away the shadows that seemingly permeate everything these days.  Even when we feel worthless, if we've been the cause of a genuine smile or laugh, or the feeling of safety and contentment, then we've been a success.

This is the Meaning of Life.

Lordy, Lordy, Guess Who's A Tired Cliché

I begin this birthday in much the same way I began the original forty years ago this very hour:  completely naked and a little wet.  (I just got out of the shower.  Let that little mental image fester in your brain box for a while.  I'll wait.  Good, now we're both awkwardly uncomfortable.)

Now for a more serious note:  I never honestly thought I'd live to see forty.  However, as fate would have it, I am not a Knower of All Things, and so for the time being I'm still here and ticking.  (My wooden bedside table was just sufficiently knocked.)

While my Life has not lived up to Younger Me's expectations, it has led me to places I would never have dreamed of going back in my more idealistic youth.  I do occasionally lament what "might have been" when I open my Facebook and see so many lives playing out that I sometimes (always) envy, but had I gone down that supposedly more traditional path (in itself an illusion of perception of some supposed ideal that we fool ourselves into believing) I would have completely missed the, ahem, "uniqueness" that is the person I have become.  In fact, there will never be another quite like this.  I mean, just look at me, yo.  This shit is special.  Y'all better recognize!  (The 90's called while I was writing this and demanded its sassy attitude back.  I quickly complied before I started snapping in a vaguely z-shaped formation.)

My point, now that I have finally arrived at one, is that this adventure of Life is never at all what we plan.  I'm older now than I have ever been, but in some ways I feel that my journey has really just begun.  It is a strange duality to be older, yet still in many ways a learner.  I often get amazed when someone looks up to me like I'm this sage adult, when in my heart I still feel like a kid myself.  It probably doesn't help that I make my own sound effects and like to have mock sword fights in the Walmart toy aisle.  (Dude, a Topher's gotta Toph.)

Age, as we often tell ourselves when sucking in our gut while looking forlornly at our naked forms in the mirror, is merely a number.  This is true.  A very precise and accurate number, as it turns out.  I'm less than thrilled at my current odometer reading. 

That being said, I'm forty.  I'm gonna own it.  I'm still here, and I'm actually kind of excited to see where this adventure takes me next.  Because truthfully?  I wouldn't change a damned thing that has happened so far.  I am the person I am today because of these experiences. 

And I actually am starting to kinda like that person.

Close Encounters of the Furry Kind

So I'm walking on the trail this morning, and a lady walking four dogs approaches from the opposite direction.  The lead dog, who isn't leashed, confidently waddles up to me to get some behind-the-ear scritches, which I happily supply in abundance.  (I have quite an overstock so I can easily spare them.)  Then I look up to see the other three puppers patiently waiting for their respective turns, entire bodies wagging happily in anticipation.

Again, I oblige.  I'm like Santa for dogs on Christmas morning over here.

Next thing I know, I am tangled up in leashes, and I suddenly realize this could be a ruse for a kidnapping.  (Then I remember: I'm poor, so I should be okay.)

Eventually, I get extracted from the leash tangle, and bid them all a good day.

This will be an excellent day.

The Discussion No One Wants to Have

I think now is the time to start having the discussion that many of us are ashamed, or afraid, to have.  It's about depression and suicide.  I'll start.  This isn’t going to be easy.

I'll go ahead and admit that there is hardly a day that goes by that I don't fantasize about my own death, self-inflicted or otherwise.  I'm much too cowardly (not to mention curious to see what's next, like any good story) to ever actually carry through with it, but those thoughts are always there.  It matters not if I’m employed, unemployed, single, in a happy relationship, rich or poor; that shadow hangs over me almost constantly. It may vary in size and intensity on any given day, but it is a constant presence.

When I first moved I was terrified of being alone, worried that the isolation would simply overwhelm me.  (I wound up loving the abundant Nature around me, so it actually wound up helping immensely.)  One of the reasons I’m not on Facebook much these days is it is hard to look at smiling families on vacation, while waking up alone and literally pooping in a bucket.  (Plumbing issues.  Don’t ask.  Hey at least my cats are friendly and the bucket gets cleaned, though the cats don’t clean the bucket, which would admittedly be very cool of them.)  The voice in my head, which convincingly imitates my own voice, constantly whispers “you’re an utterly pathetic, worthless loser and your life has no meaning.”  I know that voice is a lie, because I’m obviously awesome, but it is still there, like a little monster with claws and teeth tearing its way out of my stomach.

You see, Depression is something many people deal with, but is not often discussed.  People who suffer tend to hide those feelings away, afraid to show weakness or any other such utter bullshit.  Well I’m writing this because maybe, just maybe, someone else is suffering in silence, and this will encourage them to speak out.  Or maybe at least feel somewhat comforted, as misery certainly does love company.

Remember when everyone was shocked after Robin Williams committed suicide?  Depression is far more common than people realize.  And before you exclaim “but Tophy, old chap, they make medications and support groups and the like,” you are correct.  But meds are expensive, and go horribly wrong when you come off of them.  Support groups are terrifying for introverts with social anxiety.

I’m not trying to make excuses, just saying that I feel ya, fellow introverted peeps.  I do have methods for combating that voice, such as quiet walks in Nature, music, meditation, telling myself I’m going to die eventually anyway so why rush, and logging off of social anxie- I mean media.  Also, I know that some choices can never be undone.

One last word of encouragement, both to myself and others:  some of the best things in my Life happened when I learned to let go.  It is almost as if the Universe Itself took over and said, “Chill out, bruh, I’ve got this shit handled!”  And you know what?  Like Whoopie said, “I’m here!”  (Only I said it quieter because, introvert.)

And I plan to be for a while yet.

Hopefully.

Opryland 2018

In a parallel universe, Opryland U.S.A is still open and thriving.  In an effort to appeal to a younger audience, "The Little Deuce Coup" has recently been re-themed to "The Cosmic Saucers," complete with planetarium-style effects inside the dome and a high-tech laser system.  The playlist is composed mostly by the music of Flo Rida and Pitbull, except for special 80's themed weekends.

Baby boomers often complain about the lack of "soul" in the revamped attraction.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Briley Parkway, "Dolly Parton's Splash 'n Holler Lagoon" just celebrated the opening of its latest water ride, "Dolly's D Cups," featuring two side-by-side bikini-shaped ride vehicles that float riders and their friends down a curving waterway.  After the notorious Grizzly River Rampage Incident, in which a live bear mauled a park guest seven years ago, that attraction was dismantled, leaving a river-shaped hole in visitor's hearts.

Millennials decry the ride's theming as "overtly sexual, but thank God at least there are no bears."

And finally tonight, an update to the ongoing controversy of the "Screamin' Delta Demon," which has recently come under fire by right-wing conservative groups for its blatant Satanic and Cajunic (sic) imagery.  A few name-change proposals such as "Bob's Bobsleds" and "Sleddin' with Jesus" have been met with patrons shaking their head "no" in slow motion with deadpan stares, all without breaking eye contact.

Gen Xers remember when this ride was cool, as they sigh forlornly at the Jesus-shaped e-cigarette pens in the gift shop.

Now, as suddenly as a thought, my mind returns back through the quantum foam into this Universe.  As I step through the bustling corridors of a shopping center that long ago replaced the iconic theme park, I find myself remembering the layout of that familiar childhood haunt.  To me, it still seems like the park completely fit within the back side of the current mall's parking lot, and that still boggles my mind.  I can almost make out the exact spot where the Wabash Cannonball would whoosh by the delighted pedestrians.

There, just inside those doors, the food court.  If you listen closely late at night, you can still faintly hear the screams of riders of the Dulcimer Splash, going down that final drop.  Further distant, the bell of one of the trains as it chugs towards a nearby station.  The ghostly music playing over the speakers is currently banjo-laden bluegrass.  (Many fingers and feet were happily tapped along these pleasant walkways.)

A couple of kids walk by excitedly talking about CHAOS, then they slowly vanish to history.  I recognize one of those kids.  He was me.  I will never get to ride that or any other ride at this wonderful park ever again, but I sometimes find myself wondering what it would have been like if it were still around today.

So, using the mysterious power of our collective, multi-generational minds, we can again pull back the barrier between realities, and travel once more to the land of alternate things.

Just For The Record...

I know a blog post isn't a legal will, but as a statement of intention I would like to say that at my funeral (whenever that may be so calm your tits, we haven't set a date or anything) I want the last song to be played to be The Beatles "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band Reprise."  We hope you have enjoyed the show/sorry but it's time to go and all that.  And crank that song up, because I want the attendees to have a toe-tappin' fun time mourning my passing.  None of that sad "live like you're dying" bullshit.  (No offense intended, sis.)  I want a party!  With blackjack, and hookers!

...Okay, I'll just settle for the song.  Oh, and spread my ashes somewhere fun!

Do You Feel Like He Did?

SCENE:  My earbuds, earlier today, as I'm jamming to "Frampton Comes Alive"

FRAMPTON'S MAGICAL TALKING GUITAR:  "Do you feel..."

OVERENTHUSIASTIC FAN IN AUDIENCE, AUDIBLE ABOVE EVERYONE ELSE:  "Yeeaa!"

FRAMPTON'S APPARENTLY HARD-OF-HEARING TALKING GUITAR, AGAIN INQUIRING:  "Do you feeeeeel..."

SAME FAN, THIS TIME DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO BURSTING A BLOOD VESSEL OR HAVING SOME SORT OF MUSICALLY-INDUCED SEXUAL CLIMAX:  "YeeeeeeeEEEEEAAAAAAAAA!!!"

I wasn't there, but imagine this fan then fell over from loss of blood flow and writhed around on the ground in ecstasy, apparently indeed feeling like the guitar did.

"To Adult is Human, to Nap, Feline..."

Being an adult is weird.

On one hand, you are always tired and there is no power in the entire Cosmos that can possibly change this.  Also, you are constantly required to make awkward conversation with other adult humans, which usually involves expressing amazement that weather is a dynamic system that often undergoes change.  As an added bonus, you have to have money or you literally die, then get billed for it.

On the other hand, you are free to decide, whenever you want, to purchase and consume tasty concoctions for no reason at all, at any hour.  (*May I recommend the cheesecake milkshake from Sonic.  It has actual tasty bits of...something.  Something delicious.  I'm not afraid of it.)  Plus you can have as many cats as you want, because cats are freakin' awesome.

So all in all I suppose the adulting experience balances out, so one is free to contemplate one's smallness and insignificance in a vast, utterly unfeeling Universe while slurping loudly from a plastic, environmentally irresponsible drinking straw.

Anyway, enjoy your dinner.