The sounds of splintering wood and tearing paper.

The following conversation actually happened. The names have been changed to protect the stupid.

Me: “Hi Sue.”

Sue: “Hi D, I see you and Alan dressed alike today.”

Me: “No we didn’t. Look at him, he’s wearing a grey, short sleeved, button up shirt, I’m wearing a navy blue sweater. He’s wearing tan slacks, I’m wearing black cargo pants. He has tennis shoes, I’m wearing Airwalks. What makes you think we actually dressed alike today?”

Sue: “Well, you look so different, you guys must have planned what you are wearing today.”

A moment of silence will be held for the passing of what was my last shred of hope in humanity.

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Waffle House at three in morning is quite the experience.

Agustinesque, anyone?

So my birthday was… oh… about a month or so ago, and it got me thinking about just how old I really am.  If I went by the popular definition of age, I’m a bit over 27 years old.  Now, if I really wanted to get technical, I could add nine months to that figure, given the time I spent in the womb.  I guess that one depends on what you believe to be life and when it starts, but for the sake of the argument, I could say I’m nearly 28.

 

However, while I was thinking about all of this, something struck me.  I’m a writer.  I’m not published, or even very good, but I do carry around a plethora of characters around in my head.  To me, they have personalities and thoughts and feelings and wants and needs, just like any human being you happen to pass on the street.  Are they real?  Not in the physical sense.  They only exist in my head.  But, they exist on some level.  Before I thought of them, they didn’t have any place in time or space.  They still don’t, unless I take time to put them to paper.  Now, granted, my parents didn’t know my name, or how I think, or if I like snozberries or not, but they had an idea to have a child.  Did I start to exist then, if only as an idea?  Did the choice to procreate by my parents set the foundation for what was to come later, namely, me?

 

Let me take it a step further.  Let me also assume a few things to progress this argument. 

 

1.  God exists. 

2.  God created everything, including me. 

3.  God knows everything. 

4.  Since God created everything, including time, he exists outside of everything, including time.

 

If these things are true, then ponder this.  God, with all his knowledge, must have known about the universe and everything inside of it before it came to be.  Now, if God knew about everything before he created it, then he must have known about me.  If he knew about me outside of time, then it goes to show that I existed outside of time as well, even if it was only in the mind of God.  Could it be that my life right now is a mere snapshot of my entire existence?  Could it also be said that when this corporeal body fades away, I will continue to exist?

 

Dang.  I feel old.

 

-D out.