Like a mosquito in peak summer noodling around your room and cautiously getting braver with its ultimate goal to suck your blood from your ear – the ever diminishing returns around asking “why” seem to be getting louder of late.
Pandemic? Yes. The rapid departure of both my parents? Yes. The constant struggle of a situation I simply must let go of with my half-brother? Yes. All of this is contributing to this listless feeling.
The problem with this feeling is that now work doesn’t even make sense. What am I doing it for? Do I care? No. If I ended up maimed but breathing in the hospital tomorrow would I be proud of my work? Fuck no.
So what does it mean?
And further more. What’s the point…is there a point? Should there be a point?