Indescribable emotion

I am cold. I am hopeless. I am mad that I have not done what I am supposed to, but also, and mostly, because I must. Because if it were up to me...

It wouldn't be. It can't be. If it were up to me is out of the question. In fact, if it were up to me does not make any sense. It wouldn't. It can't. How I admire the absurdists. They have it all right. The liberating feeling of knowing that we know nothing is one I wish to embrace. But I wouldn't. I can't. It is not up to me. But if it were...

See the people. The civilians. See the everyday spur and spark of society. The roundabout way of life. The dull haze of rhythm that we awaken from every now and then. The one we're not particularly okay with. The one that spins constantly, making us all dizzy and unconscious. That one. I strive to be a part of it. A part of that. I aim to be sedated by the sense of purpose and community. A vegetable. A cog. Each passing day, I aim for it. I do not dream of it. I am haunted by it. After all, if it were up to me...

How vague a goal it is, as well. Nothing particularly spectacular, though very particular, and nothing daringly desired. Just a box in a box in a box. Opened and unpackaged. And there it is. Nothing but what you see. Perhaps, the next box will have a hat. But no. It never does. There never is anything other than what you truly expect. It never changes. It wouldn't. It can't. If it were up to me...