You fall asleep in front of the computer at eight o’clock at night, partly because your mind is overstretched with negative data, and partly because circumstances are conspiring to deny you the luxury of a full night’s sleep at the moment. Upon waking, your semi-torpid mind recognises that something is missing. What is it? Ah, of course: the depression is missing; you feel blank at the moment. This can’t be right; you’re always depressed to some extent or other; some degree of depression is the default position and you need to re-engage with it.
And so you search your database, especially the section marked ‘future prospects’, in hope of finding something to re-establish normality. But the process is confusing because part of you doesn’t want feel depressed. The process rumbles on nevertheless, until you remember something you didn’t really want to remember. Back you slip into wholesome darkness, whereupon you head to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee because coffee is one of the few pleasures left to you.
I’ve asked the rhetorical question before and I’ll ask it again: isn’t life interesting? Life has the unnerving quality of constantly teaching you things, but the ultimate question remains: does learning about life and the human condition actually have any merit? Is it a matter of painstakingly building a worthwhile jigsaw while having no image to guide you, or merely a futile exercise in self-justification?
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