Here I am, standing in front of the fridge, door open, barefoot, loose T-shirt and undies (despite the fact that I have a roommate), bed-head like a lions mane, eating all of the ingredients to a really good sandwich individually, out of their original packages. I'm enjoying the light breeze coming from the fridge and thinking about what the hell Bologna actually is. I'm not daring enough to try and read the label on the package. Frankly, I'm scared to. I shut the fridge after a while, only to find Boe and Oscar (my two handsome-boyfriend, cats) staring at me through sleepy, blinking eyes, from the kitchen table. I continue by having a conversation with them.
Sometimes, I'm jealous of how content Boe and Oscar are, eating, napping, eating, pooping, and napping some more. How simple everything is for them. They never have to understand anything other than where their food is, where they are allowed to poop, what inanimate objects are the most fun to play with, and what couches are the comfiest for napping. They will never know the stress of driving a car, going to college, being successful, finding someone to make babies with, or making friends. Everything is here, given to them for their eternity of content-ness.
Sounds great, except what the hell would be the point of our lives if we were completely content? I had a dream once. I think I met God in it. I couldn't see or hear anything, the only thing the dream contained was the most incredible feeling of content. I woke up, and told my boyfriend that I met God. He laughed and went back to sleep.
They always seem so content and they always look as if they are listening to what I'm saying. All I can think is: "Yeah, these are my people". Which, is technically incorrect, seeing as they are cats and not people. Lots of people don't like cats. I like cats and I'll tell ya why...
I have never seen a more content face, than the face my cat makes when he's, well, content.
Sometimes, I'm jealous of how content Boe and Oscar are, eating, napping, eating, pooping, and napping some more. How simple everything is for them. They never have to understand anything other than where their food is, where they are allowed to poop, what inanimate objects are the most fun to play with, and what couches are the comfiest for napping. They will never know the stress of driving a car, going to college, being successful, finding someone to make babies with, or making friends. Everything is here, given to them for their eternity of content-ness. 
Sounds great, except what the hell would be the point of our lives if we were completely content? I had a dream once. I think I met God in it. I couldn't see or hear anything, the only thing the dream contained was the most incredible feeling of content. I woke up, and told my boyfriend that I met God. He laughed and went back to sleep.
I thought about it for a while after that. I still do. It was a beautiful feeling. I didn't want anything more, in that moment. I had it all. It's so hard for me to grasp the idea of being completely content. I often think about life after death, and I always come back to that feeling. I can't help but think, that's it? Forever? No struggles? No heartbreak? No death? No life? It's ironic because, I would never feel like I was missing anything, because I would be completely content. That's the point of the feeling, I guess. Having it all.
It's really hard to write all my thoughts about this down, but what I'm getting to is this: I can honestly say I am here to appreciate every struggle, every heartbreak, every happy moment, and every sad moment, because although, I know I will be content in my afterlife, the thought of it, makes my very imperfect life here on earth, sound that much more like a gift.
Everybody struggles and everybody hurts. It's so important to remember you are not alone here. Remember, that you are here for a reason.
In Loving Memory Of Dane Ruff
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