The Life of our fading soul.

Let's say we get seventy years, generally, of empty years on which to paint our lives. We have no real rules about what we fill this time with, although society would probably have it that we procreate perhaps at some stage, but that's not true for all. It was upon returning from taking my stepson to see a cinema double bill this afternoon that this 'blank canvas' struck me. He'd stayed over last night and we had finished our time together, and I'd dropped him home after sampling my usual Sunday. When Sundays hours slowly tick by especially, there's the sense of having to use your time wisely. But then I realised that who's to say what is a wise use of time. My four hours in the darkness of the cinema was undoubtably a waste of time as viewed by the dog walking couple which I drove past. I guess you have to ask yourself what's a good way to spend your time. Time is finite, or at least that's the best thing to assume. But also we mustn't bring ourselves into a manic way of thinking, which may drive us crazy as we get stressed about our activities. Does it really matter if we do fuck all? Does it really benefit us upon dying If we explored the world from top to bottom in our life? Would we remember after death? So what is the outcome of this conversation? I guess we merely procreate and give others the opportunity to have a go at this ridiculous 'life'.
I spend the time on writing this blog, but for what? No doubt it will get deleted or simply unread after I die which is the same. I am but a speck of dust, temporarily important to family, only for the older ones to start dying and forgetting you. Then you die and are deleted further. Followed by your children's children thinking less and less of you as the generations fade. We are ultimately forgotten from our conception in ever growing amounts. So I guess we can safely mess about as we try to achieve a happiness or merely a level of contentment whilst here on this rock. Religion? I guess you can follow that structure if it leads to happiness as explained before.
I'm lucky to have over half my life yet (hopefully) to fill and obsess over, before I check out. I don't know if I can see the 'point' of it all clearly or if I am infact a bit screwed up with all this introspection. Is it unhealthy to think too much over and over? Surely its unhealthy to saunter through life and let the moments pass by unused or unwitnessed. My diaries account for every important and unimportant event which my life clocks up. On my dying day I can pull up memories from across my time and hold my life in words in two outstretched arms. My spirit will be embedded in these words until they are destroyed too, along with the memory of me.