During a suicidally boring day at work, I grabbed some paper and started a Bucket List. It's comprised of a bunch of things I want to do, see or experience before I die. And there's 33 goals on it now. But I want to make it to 100.
The List exists on yellow pad paper. Folded four times and tucked in my wallet, it's grown very sentimental for the short time I've had it. I pull it out during class when I get these little epiphanies I want to chronicle or when I'm standing in line for an overrated time-span.
The first thing I wrote was "skydive" and over the past couple weeks, I've been adding one or two things. Most of them have some self-fulfilling element to them, and some just follow impulsivity. "Buy a Harry Potter wand and learn some spells" is #16. "Design, create and wear an outfit in public" is #31. "Swim with dolphins" is #7. "Adopts dogs" is #22.
There's no particular order in which I want to accomplish them. Just as long as I do is all that matters. It's like a life's checklist. Rid of monotonous errands and meaningless requirements, as I see it.
Though I haven't written #100 yet, I know what it's going to be.
"Live long to see all this happen."
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