Bleary Eyed or Nearly Wide?

There's no real way of telling whether I'm a brand-new person loaded into the body I found myself in this morning, or whether I'm the same ol' same ol' I always was. There isn't, is there? Sure, someone could just watch me all night, but that only takes care of the corporeal me. It's what's inside that counts.

Of course, there is a sameness to it all. I know where I left my car keys -- for a change -- and I remember that I was going to finish installing my daughter's ceiling fan. So either I was supplied with really good notes (even down to my father's middle name, which he hated) or life is less mysterious than I'd like it to be.

I know ants don't worry about things like this, on an individual level, but it seems to me that they have distributed intelligence. Does the whole of anthood consider the weightier matters of philosophy and existentialism? Does George Bush actually read Camus, or does he just skim the liner notes?

And is there really any difference between those two questions?

Uh-oh. I've strayed into the political, and that violates the charter of this blog. Time to finish the coffee and catch up on the news.