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It’s bizarre when you conclude that nothing matters in life, and therefore everything matters. You realize that despite your tendencies to be self-loathing, that you’re simultaneously a pretentious prick who thinks they’re better than everyone else. You can preach your leftist SJW viewpoints all day, and you truly love people more than they’ll ever realize, but you know that deep down humanity is vile and in serious need of a breath mint. Suddenly you notice that you don’t actually have any opinions whatsoever. “I no longer think, therefore I’m not,” you smirk like some toddler who just crafted a mud pie out of their own feces. But no, fill up your thermos with coffee, get in your car, and pretend as though anything in life has ever interested you apart from your dog, women, and that bootleg copy of season 3 of Everybody Loves Raymond you cherish so much, you faux intellectual man-child, you.
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