And who could blame them?
And it was so hard to keep my Jessie Baby safe in her basket.
Ah, lah. I don't think we need to call Dr. Freud for that one.
I just feel like crying this morning. It came over me last night, this feeling of living a pointless life in a pointless world. Okay, actually, yesterday morning. Which is so ridiculous because obviously, my life is not exactly pointless and the world is not either although maybe it is and we're all just running our little hamster wheels as fast as we can to invent religions and myths and philosophies to create meaning where there is actually little less than chaos.
Or we wash our sheets to hang on the line and the purpose of that is to reward ourselves for having lived another day and now we get to rest on clean sheets, to sleep and try to make sense of it all in our dream world.
Or we write it all down and try to make sense of it that way. Hold it in place long enough to examine it, search for the inner, true meaning.
Or we go on social media and repost stuff that proves our points, we sing to the choir, we feel good about "liking" the idea that something must be done about...things.
Or we dig in the garden or we find meaning in the chickens or we read all the books or we listen to all the music or we walk or we meditate or we do whatever it is we do and sometimes, sometimes, sometimes...
It just doesn't seem to matter.
Luckily, and thankfully, this passes.
It is one of those days.
I'm sure I'll get my head out of my ass soon enough.
And until then, I'm thinking that perhaps the only true meaning of life is cats. Sleeping.