She will never know. Humans, as the title suggests, are as contingent as clouds. They are mostly water, weigh nothing. They rain and fade, rain and fade. To this existential observation, she adds, . . .
Human contingency is shocking but even more shocking is our ability to go on in the face of it.
Of her ability to trot home un-heartbroken as her purse swung on her arm by its strap. Or rather, perhaps, in order to care about being nothing, one must be something first. We know we are nothing so to be nothing is nothing. The character understands that she is an unessential and meaningless object in the universe, so if she drove into a wall and died, it would mean nothing. On the other hand, she gets a thrill from the thought of death because, to her, she is not unessential.