The vaguity in last week’s entry was intentional. It wasn’t until I was probably 40, when my cousin told me “some questions just don’t have answers,” that my life changed. From the moment I accepted it had no meaning, life gradually became more real.

Through my first 50 years, what have I missed? Quite frankly, nothing. No really: I spent far too much time looking for something to realize the void in my life was inadequate. And during that time, I grew accustomed to everything.

So what happens when it ends? I suppose that could be something. But is it?