Getting down to the guts...

Daddy?
Yes, son.
What does regret mean?
Well son, the funny thing about regret is that it's better to regret
something you have done than to regret something that you haven't done.
And by the way, If you see your mom this weekend, will you be sure and
tell her...
SATAN! SATAN! SATAN!

-Gibby Haynes
the Butthole Surfers

Regret is a funny thing indeed. It all comes down to the fear of the unknown.

There is what you did and what you've done. It's quantifiable. It is. Depending on possibly irrelevant criteria, everyone could know.

Ah, but then when you didn't do something, and nobody, least of all you knows, that bastardly guilt kicks in even worse,
because YOU DON'T KNOW.

That goddam mystery.

Moe's reading Vonnegut's Galapagos right now. She fucking loves it. I enjoyed it, but forgot almost all of it. I call it " the one where an asterisk means something other than butthole."

Anyhow, a minor character in the novel, a crazed man with an inoperable brain tumor, upon his lucid deathbed, explains that a soul, that soul which sets humanity apart from animals, is simply the awareness that you are aware of what you do, even if you are unable to prevent it.

I apologize for the previous sentence masquerading as a graf containing far more nonessential clauses than your average reader can handle.

Point resuming in 3...
2...
1...
and...

I submit to you that what we call a soul, that mystic thing other than opposable thumbs and upright stature and all that crap that 70-year-old biology teachers foisted upon us in 7th grade to separate us from animals...

That sentence is crap also.

What we call a soul is nothing more than cognizance and a passing interest in that HOLY FUCK of a bastard question, WHAT IF?

Of course animals can regret their actions. Anybody who has owned a dog for a decent amount of time knows this. Damn expressive eyes they have.

What if?

What a magnificent bugger-all of a thought.

Who hasn't been crippled a time or two, caught in its thrall?

The age I'm at, I'm supposed to be wondering about my legacy, which is precisely the sort of question that leads to...

What if?

Indifference is not immunity.

What have I done that will stand the test of time?

Most of my notable feats are in the field of drinking, but they're all overshadowed by legends who did it when they were younger than I was, who did it longer than I've lived, and who wrote about it with far more depth and insight than I have.

That's fine. Unless I get dramatically better (or worse) at drinking, my lifespan will be three times as long as my erstwhile peers.

Anybody really want to see me pull a Bukowski at 90?

Me neither.

Of course, there's an old wine drinker (presumed) and fable writer that comes in handy here.

The concept of 'sour grapes' is beautiful.

It's the only treatment for 'What if?'

Though, like so many 'cures,' it obscures the symptoms rather than fixing the problem, but that's for the best.

'What if?' is only a bastard when looking over your shoulder.

Yesterday sucked, but tomorrow's gonna be awesome.

Right?