Life, Death, and Booze

I try to stay plugged in. I try to focus on being a responsible person who doesn't let others down. I try to pretend that I care whether or not people who I'm not especially close to live or die. Sometimes I say things like, "I hope he is okay" even though I've spent absolutely no energy hoping anything of the sort. Neither have I wasted any effort hoping for anyone's demise. Hope is a waste of energy. Hope is hopeless. Or at least useless. Whenever someone inevitably falls short in their bid at immortality, I'm more apt to recall the words of Vonnegut than to be bothered by sentiment. So it goes.

Often I am successful at staying plugged in. I have just enough booze to distract my mind from noticing that almost everyone around me is an automaton at the complete mercy of their biological impulses. I barely notice that every thought uttered is a mere rationalization for these impulses that was formulated by some long dead philosopher who was himself merely trying to placate his own horror at the pointlessness of life on Earth. But I am not permitted to walk through life with a drink in my hand. It would be impractical. There are things to produce for people to consume. There are children who were involuntarily called into existence by my submission to my natural instincts. They must be fed, clothed, sheltered, and raised so that they may force a new generation to come forth to consume food, clothing, and shelter.

Even without the aegis of bourbon, wine, or beer, I am mostly capable of getting through a day without letting myself be overwhelmed by the futility of the charade in which we all participate. But then there are those brief moments when I fall to the floor and shout "why", hoping that there is a deity within earshot who might respond. Of course, one never does. I start to wonder why I value the things that I do. For instance, why am I constantly seeking the approval and admiration of other human beings? Approval and admiration are merely finite sentiments residing within a finite creature. Dust in the wind and such. The answer is no doubt grounded in psychology, which itself is grounded in biology, which in turn is grounded firmly in superstition and dizzying "scientific" theories.

Judging by the conversations I've had, the vast majority of people cannot relate to what I have expressed in this post. They are as impervious as insects, or bacteria, or a piece of drift wood to these crippling trains of thought. If it occurs to them at all, it is only briefly and is in no way an obstruction to their constant efforts at seeking the elusive goal of satisfaction. As for those afflicted with the vexatious condition from which I suffer, I can offer little advice. Personally, I try to have a drink, chill out, and enjoy the company of interesting people. (In fact, this can even be done without the drink, though it isn't as easy and I hesitate to recommend it.) Barring the unattractive option of suicide, this seems like the only effective way to avoid this debilitating condition. In short: you must seek distractions. Fortunately, distractions are what society is mostly composed from.