I was set to think after a really long time which isn't surprising because it's a rarity to have a mind of my own these days. Whose mind I dwell on otherwise, I do not know.
That's been something I keep repeating often lately 'I don't know'. It's probably because I am too lazy to think or I don't care to to think about anything vague. But sanely, vaguer ideas are just those which need to be worked on. Which brings us to the conclusion that I wasn't sane
I am thinking and I am delirious. When did so many uncertainties intrude on my mind? Well, uncertainties are supposed to intrude on everybody. But why and how have I learned to be so comfortable with them? They should have unsettled me long ago but they failed to and still haven't. I may be delirious but I am still in complete and remorseless possession of these uncertainties.
Does this disquieting comfort accompany the phenomenon growing old or does it stem from tolerance to uncertainties and manifold itself? I am agitated indeed, but I am doubtful if this sequestered tumult is enough to dispense with this comfort. I fervently hope to answer all the questions that I have come up with. And again, it's uncertain.
Life's good?? I don't know.