I’m rapidly losing sight or comprehension of “the point.” You know, of anything and everything. Not it a truely depressing sense, mind you, but in a real sense.
Yes we all create our own purpose and follow our muses. We form loving relationships and friendships. Very specific ties and realities. Many specific points.
Ah, I’m just likely looking for a spectre to pin my depression on. Stinkin’ thinkin’ as Stuart Smalley would say.
I really used to live in not needing a “point.” Perhaps that’s my point.
The deranged mind of everyone’s favourite ne’er-do-well
Ambiguity is a mean mistress….
She tosses you on the waves of emotional highs and the valleys of depressing lows…With little care as to how you fare…
Gah! My husband is perverting my mind with his silly rhymes!
I hate it when I feel I have lost track of that thing that drives me…I hate that feeling of mindlessly wandering…
{hugs}
There IS no point above the basics; eat, sleep, shit, and procreate. Everything else is simply diversions to enable us to move between the four aforementioned states.
Well, at least I enjoy the hell out of each of those.
Embrace it: there is no point. Which is the point.