Why?

One million times a day, I ask why. I ask it of myself, I ask it about others. Why did that idiot almost run me over? Why did I say that, I sounded like such an idiot... Why is she being so mean? Why didn't I think of that? Why me? Are these rhetorical questions?

I ask too many questions and I want to many answers. Maybe sometimes knowing isn't the best thing. Do I want to know why I was rude to the check-out lady, or is it because I assume the answer is that I'm not actually a mean person, I just was frustrated and didn't mean to take it out on her? I think we only want answers when we think we already know the answers. Answers can make us feel better, or vindicated. I want to know that the idiot who almost ran me over is not as smart as I am and a real jerk. But then, when we do get our answers, sometimes we were better off assuming we knew the answer, even if we end up being right. Reality doesn't change, but our innocence does, and sometimes knowing opens a whole new can of ponder-worms to torture us.