"Nothing to be done."

"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest—whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories—comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer." -- Albert Camus

"At any street corner the feeling of absurdity can strike any man in the face." -- Albert Camus

Sometimes the sweeping existentialism comes. I could be watching a scene, walking to class, or holding a pen. Then, the sweeping thought hits, “Why toil at all?” I know there is more to life than this. I want there to be something more. Yet, it seems so petty, so insignificant to want to write more, learn more, do more and more endlessly. It is as if the bricks are being lay one by one, but the question of what they are being built for is paramount. I want a degree. I want money. I want to improve. But is there something more than this, more after this? Why must it seem so empty when everyone else is out of the picture? It all must come down to happiness. Oh, how to be happy …without love, or without drugs, or without God? Would it be possible? Man will always be entitled to some degree of unhappiness. It seems a part of existence…

Then, after the thought, to go back to work and blend in with the secular crowd, to the people who actually LIVE. Why must I think such things? Of all the people I know, I am probably the most existential of them all. Not to say that more existential people do not exist, but I do not know them. I do not know them.