Love Lives of the Camponotus

I have shackled myself to the concept that my life had meaning.  Every action, reaction and especially coincidence had some greater purpose/effect on my reality.  It was as though this incalculable river of mystery ran beneath every thought, driving me towards some pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Like in Ghostbusters 2...the oozing pink sludge running beneath the city of New York...aware and longing to be fed.  Well, we find out that that toxic sludge can be killed with song and that the pot of gold can never be reached, no matter how diligent the chase.  Also, Slimer wouldn't have been around to be a laugh riot and Bob Mckenzies' counterpart, for death comes to us all, Mary Agnes and it does not entail disturbed apparitions who get off on a gorge.  Through some realizations, I am uncovering so many puzzles pertaining to my life thus far.  Such as, if I get hit by a car on my bicyclette and become paralyzed by way of body or brain, it is not written in the stars by some great design.  It was an accident, and now I'm fucked.  I don't like wearing helmets, and my ability to reason out of protecting the old noggin was that God wouldn't let anything atrocious happen to me...and if he did, it would be written as such and suppose to be.  If I see someone I knew in the past in the present in a city of a cool million(other ants bumping around till we all find the dirt), it's simply a happening.  It has no relevance or great bearing to where I am or where I need to be.  My decisions about these ideas have propelled me through life with a sense of being larger and more powerful than the other bugs.  Like I was part of something bigger, secret, and impressively opulent.  I feel smaller now...a sub-atomic particle blinking in and out of existence with no attachments, no giant question to be unearthed.  Finding comfort now in things I use to, sicken me.  I love, love and watching others serendipitously sus out a soul mate warmed my heart.  Now I want to scream, "Hey, you there...you met in a bar, smelled a pheromone you found favorable and fucked.  Your children will be the downfall of society and your hatred for one another will grow exponentially until you both welcome death as a release from his apathetic screwing around, and your nagging unappealing wrinkle puss."  I once believed that there was one person for every one.  As though you were born two halves split apart and destined to rejoin and make each other whole.  Nonsense.  We scramble about, pretending our lives and choices sustain a life of substance...stumble upon someone who doesn't make our skin crawl...the end.  No wonder 51% of marriage ends in divorce.  We lie to ourselves and each other and expect love to blossom, when instead it turns brown and chokes like my peace lily...what the hell is wrong with that thing.  Nothing I do makes it happy.  I guess we need to break up so I can find a new, greener, happier to be with me one.  There, now that's love.