Who am I? A question I've been asking myself for years and years and years. Indeed, isn't life a search for self? Am I now the same person who carried an M-1 rifle those many years ago, trudging through the heat of a Ft. Leonard Wood summer? Or am I the same person who learned to read long before that? The same one who used to smoke a pipe? Or am I now someone else, defined by marriage/job/experiences unexperienced by those earlier "me's"? How has my travel and education defined and re-defined and re-re-defined me? Is it all real, or simply "sound and fury, signifying nothing"? I read and enjoyed Garcia Marquez's book "One Hundred Years Of Solitude" years ago; would I enjoy it if I re-read it, or have the intervening years changed the "me" that enjoyed it into someone who wouldn't enjoy it now?

And what is "now"? Is it...okay, dear, I'll go make breakfast. I was just trying to answer Amos. If it's possible to truly answer someone's question. After all we can't REALLY know all of the implications and such behind