I am struck with a remarkable ennui. Looking about, the world appears so askew and that’s at best.
It seems a return to another time in my life when I questioned almost constantly is there anyone in the world who is unquestionably “happy.” And what the hell does that word mean?
We are unquestionably alone in this world that grows drearier by almost the minute with small comedic breaks that allow us to maintain some sort of sanity and perhaps a modicum of certitude that tomorrow will, indeed, arrive.
But the cycle of the world in which we live are repetitious and then by my definition, reek of boredom.
I’m not at all suicidal. That action never has been manifest in my thinking, save recently when the child of a friend took his life.
Is it a question of age, I wonder.
Looking back over my nearly 7 decades (I so prefer that to an actual number), I’m not at all certain if my life’s been, as they say, “full.” Unquestionably, I’ve done many things over a great range and many of them were at least momentarily fulfilling. But only momentarily.
There seems no passion in my life these days and I wonder if it’s just the winding down of life. With that “winding down” do more questions arise?
