Life

Sometimes when I see someone walking listlessly down the road, I tend to treat their current state as eternal and assume they’ll be this listless for their whole life. Then, sentimentally, I lament the meaning of their decades of existence—as if they’re just an empty shell.

A few nights ago while eating with some girls, I probably said that once people enter society, many live only for houses, cars, and girls. One night after working overtime, drinking slowly with my boss, I repeated this sentence. It’s not philosophy, but it’s the truth.

Forgive me for seeing life so bleakly. As a veteran mover, when delivering goods to clients, I can’t help feeling sad. It seems a person’s whole life is just constantly doing things for others, who then do things for still others, cycling on and on. We stand in the middle as movers. Isn’t humanity’s endless labor just turning entropy to 0.5? Green Day has a lyric: “When masturbation’s lost its fun, you’re fucking lazy.” When even jerking off loses its pleasure, you’re truly fucking bored. When entropy reaches 0.5, humanity is truly fucking bored.

I hate boredom, and I also hate being constantly busy. Maybe I can only slowly work toward houses, cars, and girls.

Life is meaningless. Time to drink.