In which our hero finds that things are not quite what they seem
Life is meaningless.
What’s interesting about this sentiment is that it doesn’t explain at all the condition which gives life to it. It’s a fundamental psychological fallacy. A projection of one’s state of mind onto the world. And it’s ironic too—the underlying neurological phenomenon, and thus the sentiment itself, is every bit as meaningless as the antagonistic world, the “life” against which the mind rails ineffectually.
Sadness is coercive lack of meaning, or failure of meaning to explain the world. Take away the coercion, and all you have left is apathy. For some, anthropomorphizing can lead to agents on which to project coercive potency, and thus they can rationalize continued sadness. Others have legitimate grievances against society. (Though their sadness or anger is no less a result of their personality.) I guess it takes a pretty good life to realize that depression isn’t a result of it.
On the other hand, I just need to get laid.
