The Absurd Life, Lived

People have told me I have a troubled mind.
They’re not wrong.
I watch horror films and dark comedies—
but they play only in my head.
Directed by my thoughts,
acted by my neurons,
projected just beyond my nose,
on the screen of my mind.
And I watch them—
through the eyes God gave me.

But God wasn’t my maker.
I reserve that horror—yes, horror, not honor—for lived experience.
For this absurd life I’ve led.

Camus said absurdity is “the confrontation between the human need for meaning and the silent, indifferent universe.”
I changed it slightly—made it a silent, indifferent universe.
Sounds more intimate.
Like the universe is someone you could play Monopoly with.
And lose to.

I should have.
I should have.
I should have.
Why did it happen that way?
It wasn’t my fault.
He did it.
So why can’t I?
Hide the knife.
Enter, please—my audience.

Watching my absurd experience unfold—my movie—
I wonder if I missed some glacial signpost along the way:
Wrong Way.
Or Stop.
Or Construction Ahead.

Doesn’t matter.
I would’ve missed them all.

Maybe the opening scene was when my father rushed past and said,
“A blind man picked up a hammer… and saw.”
I remember that paradox—clear as anything.
It rattled me.
And yet, I was sure I knew what reality was.
Paradoxes didn’t belong in my theater.
They must’ve slipped in through the side door.

I grew up thinking I understood reality.
And honestly… I still think I do.

But life seems to have its own meaning,
one that lives outside my mind—
one I’ll never fully grasp.

So can my version of reality really overrule the universe’s?

Was that too bold?
Too arrogant?

Maybe.
Probably.

But only… for now.