Wow. Hey guys.

So, lately, I've been trying to come up with my general level of being. Saying it like that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, does it? I'll try again.

Lately, I've been attempting to find my place in life. Wow, no. That just sounded like I was one of those dejected emo children that need to cheer up. Third time's the charm? For me, not likely.

I don't know what good I've done, or how I've done it, so I'm doing my best to make myself feel better about my life by looking for this mysterious affect I may or may not have had on the world, or, on a much smaller scale, the people around me.

As in: if I weren't here, would everything still be going well?

The answer: yes. Everything would still be strutting along with the environmental chip on its shoulder just like it is now. I don't flatter myself into thinking that everything would be laid to waste if I had never existed.

Who knows if everything doesn't exist because of me, anyway? Or, as you're reading this, put yourself in my place. We're human, so it's kind of hard to do, but worth a shot, no?

What if everyone around you doesn't actually exist when you're not there? What if the rest of their lives are just something that your brain fabricated? That once you can no longer see something, it does not exist. An old concept that I don't take any credit for. But, if it's right, then would I not be the one to take all the credit? Or you, dear reader? If this were true, then this message itself was just something that you came up with. Of course, if this is true, don't expect to control it.

Then again, whatever demented little world you've created may all be a lie. (It's like cake.) You could not exist. You could merely be someone my brain came up with.

Still acting under the pretense that this is true - why would my brain (if indeed it is my brain) do this? Am I really that creative? That insightful? That audacious as to be so dissatisfied with what I have that I create new people to meet, new world problems to be broadcast over the news, and new situations in which to humiliate myself?

Perhaps it's my currently diminished health talking, but doesn't that make me masochistic? Sadistic? Wouldn't this make me, for lack of a better term, God? Should this be so, then this self that is creating everything is fluent in all languages, knowledgeable in all hobbies, and creative in the up-most sense.

It has written every book, blog, poem, journal entry, song, play, news article, text message, note, musical, and ancient testament. It has created all of Bach's, Picasso's, Mozart's, Da Vinci's, Beethoven's, and Van Gogh's pieces. It has mothered every being on the planet. It is teaching me about life, history, and the future.

What if it isn't actually me? What if there is only one being and we are its playthings? Earth as we know it is its sport. How we see everything through our own eyes, maybe that's just it residing in our head. It comes in and we are animated for however long it wishes. So are we still creating everything? Or are we all really created by this being out of warm modeling clay? It gives us life, not our mothers.

What if I started my "life" at the age of seven?

What if all of this is wrong? What if no one is right? There is no "God" or heavenly being. No Heaven or Hell. No purgatory or limbo. It doesn't exist. We are simply a species that believes that something more must be out there. But, too often does this happen that when we meet someone else who also believes that there is something beyond what snapshots of oxygen, green, water, love, and sand we experience here, we reject them solely because they do not believe the same place or thing exists after we do.

That last sentence was unclear, but I believe the point was evident enough.

So, if nothing actually exists, I created everything, or even if their is some greater being (be it "God" or whatever) which enjoys toying with us, then my existence in accordance with a place in life is inconsequential. I either am the bearer of all existence, so if I don't, then nobody does; nothing exists, then neither do I; or something is currently residing in my head and laughing its ass off as I type this blather out, going, "Damn, she's good!"

I'm not making much sense. I blame it on being sick.

However, I'm done talking to myself about something so thoroughly pointless and meaningless. I've heard enough on the subject for now.

Off to the Spaghetti Establishment!

-NN

For all of those that actually read that: I'm delusional, but every once in a while it's just nice to be philosophical. Or neurotic.