What’s the meaning of life?
It’s been asked before,  and luckily for those needing a comedy pick me up now and then, been answered in fantastical ways by the likes of Monty Python and Douglas Adams.

Heck,  it’s a depressing question.

I’m not that person.  I used to find joy in the little things…putting one foot in front of another,  an everlasting meal of cheese and biscuits, a pint at the pub with friends.  I’ve never been that person who starts asking…why do I even bother?

But this week I suddenly am, whenever I let myself stop and think that’s what I’m wondering,  and to justify this ‘change of tune’ let’s call it a scientific observation.
I have two BScs after all,  might as well use em as an excuse for overthinking.

We plod along day by day doing what is expected of us…to what end?

We strive for happiness,  love, a house, a family,  a fulfilling career…perhaps to own a cat one day or travel the world.  Personally,  I hope to be self sustainable and build my own house,  straw bale by straw bale.  But WHY?!  What does it bring us or add to the world?  If we do make some contribution to society…great!  But would it be missed if we didn’t?

We go through life having good and bad experiences.  Fab.  But it’s not like we end up with a medal that tells our children we have reached the end with ’50 life achievements’ or that we’ve ‘survived 50 nasty breakups unscathed’..


I’ve just realised religion would probably help with my conundrum.   The threat of being judged at the end of it all is EXACTLY what drives a large proportion of the population…am I missing out?  Do I need the choice between clouds and fiery pits to lead me back toward my previous path?

Hell no.  I need a fucking shrink and a bucket of water to be chucked over my head.

‘…the greatest task for any person is to find meaning in his or her life’


(please see the entry following that is essentially my subconscious talking to itself)





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