I'm in luck that way, that I find you when I need to unload.

I wonder if life is supposed to be disjointed parts of sadness and memories and trudging about and getting through and laughing and contentment and hurt, all squished together in one large package. Individually these parts mean something and can be analysed and tallied. But what of it all together. Is there meaning and purpose to that one week in Bangkok, or that hour under the glaring sun, or that 5 mph run on the treadmill or that iftaar I crafted in two hours running on empty. On a whole, it's so distant. Like a solar planet that we know and can name but can not touch, feel, smell. Is life then all about the timed bursts of incidences, and how we handle every minute of unpredictability thrown at us. Because as a whole it feels like we are wandering souls making our way through a dessert, with a map and compass, but nowhere to go.