In the mornings, sitting there on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands or my hands on my knees, I wonder. I'm amazed that I feel no different than my eighteen year old self. Maybe it's because I didn't spend all that much time looking in the mirror at that age, becuase that would certainly have changed my attitude.

Maybe not.

No matter, the point is that I feel like I should have gained some wisdom, that I should have more answers to life's persistent questions, (apologies to Garrison Keilor). I haven't, and now I have to wonder, "What will I tell my son when he asks...?".