Life Is Meaningless…Kinda.

I’m not feeling particularly emo at the moment, so I probably won’t write much, nor will it be too introspective. I’ve gotta be in the mood for that. But Eric has been feeling existentialist lately, and we started talking about it.  I’ve been there, done that. Did I find an answer? Not really. More of a cheap escape.

What’s the problem? Life seems meaningless. Indeed, it does. You work, work, work. Go home. Do some…thing(s). Work some more. Buy some crap along the way to make you feel better about yourself.  Move up the ladder to make more money to buy more crap. Or if you’re Paris Hilton, remove work, and buy more crap. Repeat ad nauseam until death do us part.  It’s a most vexing problem that has nagged at people through the ages. What is the meaning of life? What the hell am I doing and why is it worthwhile? My solution, one that I don’t think Eric bought into, is there really isn’t a meaning of life. You pretty much just have to set up your own goals that are fulfilling to you. It doesn’t particularly end the cycle, nor answer the question, but it should keep one pacified. Ha.

For me, there were really two possible types of goals. One: Try to find a way to help others or mankind (to which Eric replied, so that they too, can one day be consumerist whores and continue the meaningless cycle), or Two: Carve out your own pointless slice of happiness. In my case, I chose the latter.  So that involves getting a house, pimping the garden, finding a love (a WOMAN if that is not clear) to cultivate some BS together, and then bah humbug-ing everyone else.

But still, I hope one day to be able to do the former. There are many who don’t even have the luxury of pondering about such pointless things. And it is so very, very pointless a question (imagine that, it’s pointless to think about the pointlessness of life). I mean, either way, you’re going to have to take action on it. Blow yourself away like a tool, continue a mundane lifestyle, or find something meaningful to do.

The “finding a significant other” route does seem kind of a cop out, though.  It’s the default, biological meaning of life. Screw like rabbits and pump out the young’ns. Take care of the young’ns because they are helpless. But they are helpless because you popped them out. And you popped them out because…It really just propagates the cycle along perpetually. Now you’ve got little mini-you’s ready to jump into the workforce.  So I guess, again, one really just needs to find something fulfilling.

So it seems Eric was left spiraling unsatisfied. But we did agree it would be awesome if he ended up dead in a gutter somewhere (not due to foul play of course, but due to booze, alcohol, and a rock star way of life).

I apologize for the rambling. I haven’t posted lately, because I haven’t found anything meaningful to talk about (you see what I did there, huh??), so I submit this crap to you. Thank you.

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