Love Hexagons
Chappy I: Violet Baudelaire
Insane. The entire world is insane. No one understands anyone. No one ever will. There is so much hidden inside of one's self that it is impossible for one to see it all and understand it, let alone another. We call people brilliant who steal ideas or happen to come up with a fairly good one every once and a while. We call people stupid who have so much intelligence stored up in them that they could not possibly let it loose.
Insane. The entire world is insane. Or are we? Are we not? Am I insane? Are people who are assumed to be insane insane? Hmm? We don't know because we are such primitive beings. There are greater things out there. Things smarter than us that we do not know exists. Things unexplainable. How can I prove this? It's possible. If it's possible then it must be. A theoretical physicist said that. He hadn't created any inventions. He had thought. God, wouldn't that be a fine job? To think. All day long, all you do is think, think, think. Of course, there are mathematical equations involved, but that's a breeze.
Insane. This is insane!! Why the crap am I writing this? Why can't I just say what happened today like all the other normal people do! But I'm not normal. Dear God, I hate shallow people. I hate stupid people. I hate ignorant people. UH! They make me want to through a shoe at them. The ignorance of some people is so immense that-OH, I HATE IGNORANCE!
I'm insane. So insane. I must be dying. That would be a good thing. Fine good thing. Canada, that's a nice word. Think about it. Canada. Cool, huh? Arg, I'm talking to a piece of paper! I'm insane! Ok. I wanted to put this off. When Quigley (uh huh Quigley) gave me this little journal I wanted to save it for something cool. Something good.
They are triplets. The two look the same. Why can't I just pick one? Why, world, why?! But they aren't the same. They are different. Everyone's different. Everyone's insane.