Sunday Morning

I like to think of myself as somewhat of an enigma.

Nobody really knows what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling, what I know. But then again, do any one of us really know what we're thinking, feeling, what we really know? Personally, I think that's where it gets all complicated. I don't know why you listen to me. I don't know why I'm here, do you?

"No, Mr. Winters, I don't. Would you like to guess?"

No, not particularly. Guessing, well it's simply much too naive in this kind of situation. The answers are infinite, any which way you go, there's a solution. I believe in a more pragmatic approach when dealing with these problems. The evidence must be valid, and the argument sound. But if you guess, you create an uncertainty that is just much too infinite to calculate. I would have loved to major in Chemistry if I ever went to University, have I told you that?

"No, Mr. Winters, I'm afraid you haven't."

Are you going to write that down?

"Yes. Mr. Winters, I am."

Do you write down everything I say?

"No, Mr. Winters, I do not."

I get this feeling sometimes. It's the darnedest thing I must admit. I've never felt it before, not until I came here. You're not going to ask what it is?

"Would you like me to ask you what it is Mr. Winters?"

No. No I wouldn't.