This weird notion hit me suddenly. Life generally passes you by, all trumpets blaring, leaving you old and grey, with a worn-out fish hook for company. You suddenly find yourself blessed with the ability to actually fish in a dingy 5'x5' cellar, with mosquitoes, moths, and an imaginary halo buzzing over and around you. We call it the saga of the dancing caterpillars. By the time you actually notice activity around you, and start looking for caterpillars, life has passed on; you find dead butterflies, with wings torn out by high-precision radar bombs. It's a beautiful life, for sure. I'm still wondering if I've lived mine.