In a totally non-suicidal, thought-experiment kind of way, recently, I’ve been wondering if life has been wasted on me. I have little ambition in life; I have absolutely no plans for the future; and I see little point in many things; I am lazy to keep up too many friendships, but then gripe about how I’ve lost touch with so many people; I find discontent in anything. Then again, I suppose you can say this for many, many people as well.

I’m not sure if the happiness I feel is self-imposed or genuine: do I feel happy because cognitively I know this is what’s supposed to make me happy and hence, I inflict (such a cruel word!) a sense of happiness upon myself? Is this a question even worth asking — and does it really matter?

I feel strange spasms of guilt at being given life sometimes, considering how down-beat and empty I am about most things. Now I don’t mean this in a I-want-to-kill-myself way, but I feel as if Life Force has been wasted on my somehow; like maybe someone else would do a much better job at being alive than I am, in the sense of making a greater difference in the world or at least achieving something.

Maybe it’s just a lack of purpose in life that’s been getting me down. I’m not sure what’s the point of waking up every morning if nothing changes with my being there. Hmm. This is easily solved, of course, by turning that frown upside down (!) and getting myself to stop being such a Negative Nancy all the darn time.

In other news: walked into the Multimedia Lab to find a quiet place for work, but ended up walking on two people flirting (?), but I can’t leave the room now because it’d be too awkward. #HellIsOtherPeople #MyLifeIsACosmicJoke

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