Existential crises
It feels like I'm right in the middle of a decades-long existential crisis. Worse, it feels like unavoidable and overwhelming truth. Don't misunderstand me, I have no intention of not-living, it's just that I cannot help but consistently question the point of doing typical living-related things.
The fact of the matter is that we are miniscule and temporary creatures living on a trivial and dying rock, located in an immeasurably vast universe. Honestly, anything and everything we do is entirely inconsequential.
Maybe it's the autie in me that keeps this persistently active in my mind. Maybe it's that old Monty Python song that never seems far from my conscious thought.
I know I'm not supposed to say these things; that they make people socially uncomfortable. But, the problem I've always had is that: this doesn't make them any less true.
So, I try to put on the mask, day after day, year after year; remember to smile, and nod, and put on the right amount of enthusiasm for human life activities.
But, really, that's just another layer of costume, and inside, I can't help but remain aware of the idea that none of it, ultimately, really matters all that much...
