"We don't exist" - Meat Puppets

Another post. This blambling is addictive.

(Sorry, I'm enjoying the word I made up this morning. Now that someone else has acknowledged it, I have this feeling of responsiblity. When I go home tonight and my cat asks me what I did today - she's incredibly articulate for a rescued tabby - I'll be able to answer, with pride, "coined a term.")

So, I think I'm a character in somebody's mind. Some aspiring novelist is out there trying to creat me and I come out in this blog.

Really, for all you know I could be. (Though I would like to question what exactly this writer hopes to accomplish with this blog and ask if I might request some superpowers or something)

That's the thing, if a person isn't in front of you, how do you know you didn't make them up?

"I think, therefore I am," but what about you? (If Descartes is accurate, how does one explain the current president? Since he doesn't think, he shouldn't be, yet... sorry, I'll try to keep bush-bashing to a minimum)

And on the same note, how do you know they're dead? What if they're just on an extended vacation?

This is why I don't worry much about death. Thank you Rene. I feel that those people I lost are just enjoying Tuscany, alot. Granted, I'm a little miffed at their lack of e-mail and postcards, but maybe they're having too much fun (fun translates in Italain to Vino).

And, in case you were wondering, I have lost loved ones. Man, I wish they would send a postcard alreeady.