Who Are You and What Are You Doing in My Kitchen? Part II

What am I doing here? What is my purpose?

Well, as far as I see it, there is no rhyme or reason to why anything is anything. We as a society accept things as they are, and forget about it. If the grass was orange instead of green, or cats evolved to be three feet tall, that's just they way it would be, and we would write a wikipedia page about it, and move on with our lives. So, whether or not you die happy, in some sexy accident, or just as miserable as the rest of the world has no affect on the future, the present, or the past; anything you, or anyone else does now won't change the outcome of anything. So, I ask again, What am I doing here? And the simple answer is Living. You are "alive", and just what are you supposed to do with your life? Whatever makes you happy.

Happiness feels good, and I bet that you would rather spend your life feeling good than feeling bad.

Look what I did.

So, I tried my hand at stitching, but with the lack of a

good textile to use,

I went ahead and sacrificed a canvas that

I've had laying around for a while. This is it.

The picture doesn't do it justice;

it's a tish more green than that, but yes.

I went ahead and did some macro too, 

because, well, who doesn't like a good macro shot?

Who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen? Part I

So, today I present you with this question: Who am I, what am I doing here, and just where am I anyway? Over the course of however many days, I'm going to try to answer this in three different parts, the best I can. So, to begin, Part One: Who am I?


Well, through out the course of my life, and I'm sure yours, time after time, I've been told that I am human. So, I guess I am a human, whatever that word means. I am much taller than a bug, and a lot shorter than a tree; I am driven by emotions rather than ration or logic, and I really like to talk to other things like me. I exist, or so it seems. I'm not sure why I am, or where I am for that matter, but as far as I can tell, other humans see and hear me, so I assume that I am a real.
I think. I can hear things without talking. These thoughts are real; they are happening as I think them. Sometimes I write them down. I can see things. I interpret and try to understand the things and other beings I see. I hear noises that everything makes; and everything makes noise. It's very noisy where ever I am.
I feel. I like to feel. I like to feel people touching me, and I like to touch everything; everything has it's own feeling, it's own warmth or cold. I can smell. Everything smells different. I remember smells quite well.
Remember: I can re-think of thoughts and sights and touches and smells and sounds. I remember a lot.

I do these things a lot. What does it mean?