Several years ago I had an artist friend who abruptly quit doing art, cut herself off from most of her friends and acquaintances, and occasionally talked of ending her life. Obviously she was depressed, but I think she had also reached a stage in her personal life philosophy that was similar to where I am now: pondering the pointlessness of the universe, and especially the pointlessness of the bustling human activity we are trained from childhood to revere.
I get a certain amount of satisfaction in thinking about the machinery of the cosmos being there just because it's there, and not there to comply with a party platform or an employee handbook or a story in the Old Testament.
But it makes it difficult to be motivated about anything.
I've lost touch with my artist friend, but I wonder what she thinks about this today.
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