I sometimes wonder at my inertia. Whenever I think of something I should be doing, I inevitably attempt to put it off. Why would this be so? Perhaps more pertinent is the question of whether I really feel I should do anything. The word 'should' is so presumptuous. Who defines what should or should not be? Society? Have I no purpose but to fulfil my role in society then? If I were in a different society, would I no longer be me, but somebody else? This other person is not me, but then I would have no existence. This other would be the only existence, but he cannot be, for I do exist now. But now is nothing. What if I am nothing more than an abstract construct, a thought exercise of what some version of myself, no, not a version of myself, but some creature who is the real me, except not me, might think would happen if a particular set of circumstances were to come about? After all, if characters can exist in a fiction, why then can fiction not be a reality?

Alright, that leads nowhere, I know, I've been there.