Honesty is something I value (that was a lie). Everything that I'm doing is without nuance. Nothing feels special anymore and I can't remember a time when anything did. The same events every day:
I feel tired, I get up, I brush my teeth, I get on the bus in the dark, hear people around me complaining that they're tired, get off the bus, get on the train, breathe the same recycled air I did yesterday, write a meaningless palimpsest, get off the train, walk to the university, wait, wait, wait, pretend that I care about other people's problems, work, walk to station, get on train, tired, get off train, get bus in the dark, get home. I'm still tired. Get in bed and convince myself that I don't need anyone, that wallowing in loneliness makes you stronger as a man or some bullshit like that. I lie in bed, muscles pulsating, bones in the early stages of arthritis, I can feel myself aging.
You can't afford to stop and analyse that everything you are, everything you've done or ever will do is in the end meaningless. And if that is the case, then what's the point? Why even spend the time you have tired, suffering? But being human, to me anyway, is about suppressing those thoughts because if everyone in the world were to think like that then most of them would be dead under the pressure. All life is is a doleful wade through a hopeless confusion. I got onto a train and thought too much about it and it made me want to cry. But I didn't. I didn't.