Sometimes I get to thinking about the purpose of things—and I continuously find that I have gone too far, I have asked too many questions, questions without answers.  It starts out innocently enough—so simple as even "why do I have to write that essay?"—but it quickly transcends that which the human mind can comprehend.  I have to write the essay to get a good grade in the class, I have to get a good grade in the class to please myself and my parents and to keep a nice GPA, I have to keep a nice GPA to get into the college I want, I have to get into the college I want so I can make the most of those years and get a degree, I have to get a degree to get the job I want, which I have to get so I can support myself in life.  It's all, in the end, to have a nice, comfortable life.  But that's not the end.  Because why should I do all that?  What's the point?  Time, material things, all are fleeting.  That which happened a week ago seems it happened but moments ago, where did all those years go?  It seems I have but two memories from the fifth grade, and perhaps one from before that, but I lived, I created memories, for many years before and between them, so what happened?  What is the point of creating memories only for them to be forgotten?  I can have fun in the present, I can plan to be comfortable in the future, but the future will be the present will be the past, and the past will be forgotten.  So what's the point?  Religions have the answer—but do they really?  I've been told, I think I believe, that the goal is to become one with God, but why?  So we can melt into God's conscious, lose ourselves to it?  If that's the goal, well, all I can think is that God must be incredibly bored, since it (yes, I refer to God as it—I change, occasionally, but this ultimately reflects my beliefs best) created us out of nothing, some say, out of itself, I'd think, since it is infinite, since it is all, only for us to return to it.  A circular path, I think, is a little redundant.