I am in the process. And the process is in me.
But how am I supposed to know when the process ends? I cannot remember when it started, nor am I able to predict how long it will last. Such is the truth of life.
But what am I supposed to do with this truth? How will I determine that the process is about to end so that I can make.. ahem… “arrangements”? No, I’m not talking about those final arrangements that the reader may have thought about. Not everything is so grim.
But life is an oddity, isn’t it? You cannot remember the beginning and you have no idea about the end. Can there be an end? How can there even be an end? It doesn’t make sense.
But such is the process I find myself in. And you do as too. There is apparently more to this than the naked hairy eyeball can tell. At least I wish there was. I really hope so. Because if this game of molecular table pool is all, then I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense. It seems more important than that.
I better stop writing now.