Trying to figure things out.

I'm analytical. In that I'm analyzing what's going on around me. In my immediate environs. And in the world, I suppose. To the best of my knowledge. Through a variety of sources. But I can't be sure of everything. I rely mostly on human contact. And things that affect me. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. After all, I just found myself in this world. Initially, in a place called Chicago. And I gather I had a mom and a dad. They kind of took care of me. But I also quickly learned that I had to take care of myself. To some degree. That I was moreorless on my own. I gradually built an identity. I was a boy. Not a girl. My name was Jim. Or Jimmy. Or James. And I had a surname. Broede. A middle name, too. Bruce. Maybe I came alive when I discovered words. Words that had meaning. That allowed me to even have thought. If I pieced words together, it all began to make sense. There was such a thing as consciousness. Awareness. Yes, reality, of sorts. I even began to think in mathematical terms. Two plus two makes four. But hey, I'm still trying to figure things out. --Jim Broede