There is no why? The hell there isn’t!


Billy licked his lips, thought a while, inquired at last: “Why me?”
“That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is.Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?”
“Yes.” Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it.
“Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

That is an excerpt from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, and I used to love it, revel in the idea that it is possible to be just in the moment without any why, without anything. To just be in the moment. But as of last night, I felt like the ladybug inside Billy’s polished amber. 

“Well, here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” 

The hell there isn’t! 

WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY??

I should probably stop creating amber moments because I am no ladybug.

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