What is a real something?

How is this possible? It is March 31st, 2006, 6:10 PM. Where did last year go? What happened to all my ambitions and plans? What am I doing here, sitting in front of a computer screen? I should be on a beach somewhere, tossing rocks into the ocean and listening to seagulls. Sleeping in a tent 10,000 feet high, on a whistling rocky outcropping. Having a latte in Switzerland wearing a sombrero. Snorkeling in Thailand with Elvis. Flying to the moon on a modified tricycle.

What happens to time? Where does it go? Can you really save it or can you only spend it?

My intentions are to keep going, not to stop, but to continue onward into the infinite. Does anybody else realize that they are ultimately going to die at the end of this life? Then do they ask themselves "What the hell am I doing wasting my precious minutes, hours, days, years, decades screwing around?" "Do I have the right to do that?" "Will I be reborn as a newt?"

Does anybody really care about these questions or is it just me, a 27 year old cook/musician/buddhist white male with no real problems and no real solutions and no real anything? What is a real something? If I had a house and kids and a career would that be real? Does that change the fact that I am ultimately going to die at the end of my life?

I guess it all comes down to one question: How do I want to spend my time while I am alive?