February 7, 2007
For my next life, I think I'd like to be a bug, maybe crawling someplace pleasant beneath the canopy of the jungle. Do bugs feel guilt? Probably no room in that tiny brain. Do they understand stress, panic, fear? I can't even imagine, but at least it's simple. Eat, defecate, procreate; then get eaten by some bird or lizard when I least expect it. Or maybe I should be a tree. They usually live longer; spending the days growing roots and leaves, warming in the sun with nowhere to go but up or sideways. My luck, I'd end up deforested.