I would like to think that the weather changes are subjected to my whims and fancies. But that would be arrogant and blasphemous. Not to mention idiotic. But I really can't help but ponder that these past few days (week ?) that I'm feeling as though I am at my lowest point, the weather has been kind enough to accomodate my "distress". I hope to get over this soon but well, the cloud is passing pretty slowly. Where did all this misery began ? Same question as when did life began. Some questions have all the answers pat and ready, others take a number of questing years. And the minute rest ? Unanswerable. I'd like to hope that my life is one huge unanswered question. But that is just flattery. I am nothing but an open book. Not quite right, some of my acquaintance would retort. I am anything but an open book. I'd like to think that my thoughts are as deep as the Pacific. But many a times I've been put to the ground by the shallowness of my thinking. Why does everything I do completely out of sync with all the things I thought I could do ? Again. The quest begins. When will it end ? When we are old and grey ? Or when we breathe our last ? Or has it not even begun at all ? Or just something we thought we had to do ? Maybe out of self recognition ? Or pity ? The answer is how you want it answered.