Life every four year old, I have asked "Why?" about practically everything I have encountered in my life. At some point, again- like every five year old- I learned to hold my "whys" in because either they were unwelcome or the answers where annoying or and this is the worst, when the answer is so long and detailed that it made my ears bleed.
Now, for reasons not so amusing, I am young to be retired and I find myself able to investigate questions long ignored by myself, and others. Questions like, what becomes of the beloved characters found in novels that are more real than our relations? Where are they now and what are they doing? Why, when given the same information do people I love come to different conclusions? This is especially disturbing when the answer is obvious (to me) and I respected the person prior to the discussion at hand.
Probably this blog is of little or no interest to anyone at all, perhaps not even me BUT, at least one night a week I find myself awake into the dawn and want some reason to call this time productive, and so since no one comments on my blog anyway, I may as well entertain myself.
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