I was supposed to write on the topic "life is funny", a philosophical response.

Essay by awilkinsonHigh School, 12th gradeA, March 2004

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I often find myself desperately searching for the definition of life. What the hell I am looking at through stereovision and black frames. Its hard to believe I was once microscopic, once ceased to exist, and eventually will not exist. It's hard to come to terms with the fact that unless I do something paramount, make a dent in the universe, I will be forgotten. Would it matter if I heard the click of a gun pressed against my head? Would anybody ever know that I existed? Should I lead a life of fun and games, or should I try to cure cancer. I don't know if life is funny, but it's indefinable. We do so much to distract ourselves that we never really take the time to think about what life really is. We are merely animals, hurtling through a rock in space, acting on our primal instinct to copulate with one another and produce offspring.

If you really think about it the majority of us aspire to do nothing more than reproduce. Sure, we want to have a dog, an attractive spouse, large amounts of money, but what I don't think we realize is that it centers on extending our own life via our children. Primal instincts. Call it what you will. I've got it extremely well when compared to the other 90% of the world, yet I constantly find something to be upset about. Whether its a late assignment (this one for instance), something I regret saying, or my sub par English grade. These things are all trivial, but I get the feeling that it's my nature to always have something to complain about. I love complaining, whining, bitching, moaning, faultfinding, nit picking, carping, grousing.... I could go on for hours. I see most of...