When I was young thinking was one of my favorite activities. I would just sit down and think about anything and everything for hours at a time. I thought about the nature of life, thinking, planes, bugs, science, art, and everything in between. In the process, I came up with some ideas that I have since learned were also thought of by philosophers of the past.
One of my favorite things to think about was the possibility that life is actually only a dream. When you dream, everything seems logical. Furthermore, sometimes I would have dreams about dreaming. So why should my whole life not just be a really long dream? I would wonder what my life would be like if I woke up, and if that life would be a dream also. It turns out a Chinese philosopher named Chuang Tzu had the same idea. Go figure. Another of my hobbies was reading. For years I read at least a novel every day--four of five in the summer. This filled my head with all kinds of interesting ideas and expanded my vocabulary.
In other words, I was an interesting person when I was young. Now I just listen to other people and wonder what happened. When did I stop thinking about interesting things? When did I stop being interesting? How did I end up so mediocre? And why is mediocre spelled that way anyway?
It's called you are busy wasting time with me.
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