2 July, 1997

Why did I survive when others didn't? Is there some deeper, higher, beyond me, be all end all explanation for it, or am I just going in paranoiac-cum-philosophic circles again? No, there must be some reason. Everything happens for a reason, right?

_{(Uhm, right?)}

Thing is, though, there are no superlatives to gage. gage is not the best, most, -est anything. Were I the best thinker, the most willful, or the strongest, that I survived would make sense to me. You could point at that single qualifying trait and say, "See! That's why. You've got an extra chromosome on your dangling participle and it made you the whateverest. It's only natural, given that particular anomaly, that you would survive." I don't have that any more than I have "writer" tattooed on my ass, or "caitiff" stamped on my forehead.

That I have some greater purpose in life is not apparent to me. My words aren't original. There is nothing fresh and exciting, new and intriguing, unique and compelling in my story. It's the same old shit you bargained for in that dusty paperback your mum bought 7 dozen years ago while waiting at the register of Ye Olde Nameless Grocery Chain. And you found it in her trunk, and had to read it because it was a "grown up" story (as indicated by the use of "fuck" on the third page), and were just too impressed. Until you read the same story by some other schmoe the next year. And the next. And...

If some other guy has already said what I have to say, and in better, fancier, humdingier phrasing to be sure, then...Isn't my job done? Did the whistle blow and I forget to punch out?