My Mind's Computer Just Became Self-Aware

:: Tap Tap ::

I stand at the podium on the stage of an empty room. 140 Dodd Hall. Its a cavernous place, with endless rows of seats that arch up and away from me. I can't remember if I came in the front or back. Regardless, I am here now. I am wearing my best pin-stripped suit, my favorite shirt (blue, of course), and my power tie. I also have on a silver watch - its broken, but I don't care. She gave it to me.

Whether I like it or not, this room and I are inextricably linked. So many things have started here. So many things have ended here. I guess this is as good a platform for my mind to ruminate as any. I only hope I have the time to say something meaningful.

"Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars. I cannot count one."

- Thoreau

Ya, but what did that Transcendentalist bastard know? He spent most of his time wondering through the woods. Life is about the people you spend it with. Isn't it?

If an intelligent man says something in the woods, and no one is around, does he make a sound? Yes, but I think his words only exist for as long as the wind carries them. But what if an idiot says something in the woods? I would not be surprised if his words echoed in eternity. So should I say something intelligible but forgettable, or should I use the lesser regions of my mind to carve out a permanent fixture on this landscape? It’s a tough call. Either way, I do share Thoreau's fear that I am not as wise as the day I was born.