What is the purpose of life? Is it to fill our days with mostly useless activities that will produce an eerie and improbable amount of success, or is the purpose of life to live in solace and to learn much great wisdom? Another question closely associated with the question “What Is The Purpose Of Life?” is; did we choose to be put here? Did we choose to be raised by inexperienced people who frankly do not know how to raise newborn children? My answer to the last two questions I have just asked you, the Reader, would usually be “No,” but because of some odd and unexpected events in my bizarre circumstantial life, my new answer is simply, “I Don’t Know.”
I have been told many times that “I Don’t Know” is not a real answer, but as I sit here before this typewriter typing this bizarre and unexpected article, I realize that in my tedious and strange line of work (“line of work” meaning “occupational position”), I do not know what I thought I knew. It seems that whenever we as Humans believe that we have figured out the very last detail of life, a happening happens which causes us to rethink what we thought we would never have to think about again.
What is the point of me saying all of this? I really do not know. I guess I got bored while waiting for a Doctor In Disguise to visit me, so I decided to write on a typewriter that rested on a cedar desk in the hospital waiting room I’m currently waiting in. Besides, writing on this antique and rusty typewriter is not only painstakingly tedious, but also helps to relieve many of my unguarded thoughts. And by “unguarded thoughts”, I mean, “thoughts that would otherwise slip out my mouth and mess up my top secret operation.”
I would tell you about the operation I am about to undergo, but as I said before, it is highly confidential, and besides, I doubt that you would want to know about my intestines being removed. Oh dear me, I have just told you the purpose of my operation! I guess that as soon as I finish writing this, I’ll have to destroy the papers I am now typing on. But how unfortunate that would be!
I must stop typing now, for the Doctor In Disguise has arrived and is waiting on me while standing in the hospital waiting room. So if you are reading this, it probably means that I swallowed these papers and while the surgery was taking the place, the Doctor In Disguise found the papers loosely lodged in my stomach where he then removed them without my knowledge and published them under the pen name Twisty Ceives. Oh well, I’m not too upset. This article is simply ramblings from my distinctly peculiar and irregular life.