Today has been fine. I got a letter from someone I'd rather forget about, and the issue of my studies continues to cause its distress, but it was okay, really. I start to wonder what is going to happen to me.
I've been wondering about reality again. The more I look at my life the more absurd it seems. It doesn't click in my brain that I can be what they say I am. It all comes back to death. It doesn't make sense to me that death is really real. Is any of this really real? I feel that I could quite easily be in the Matrix. I could be a complex computer program. I could be... anything. But an flesh and bone creature, an animal? Soon doomed to stop being? It can't be. I can't die. My mind can't die. Something that can see and feel and think like this can't die. Why not? I don't know. All I know is the idea is just ridiculous. He's circling again around the idea that he's the only one of his kind in existence. In a sense, we all are the only ones. We are the only true beings in our own universes. Much as we might come to love and hate and be attached to the other ones, we can never be inside their heads. This voice in our heads is the only reality there is. Nothing else is as concrete, as omnipresent. It's the only thing we can never get away from. The self, the soul, the magic core that makes us special. It's the only thing in the universe that we can't run from or leave behind, so it's the only thing that's real.
