Forgetting

What am I living for? As it seems now, I am not living for anything significant. To live? To be entertained and happy? The former may be a worthy justification, but I fear that the latter is the primary motivator, a justification that is most dastardly, perhaps even evil. Entertainment. Today, what did I do? I did nothing but be entertained from entertainment of the most lazy variety. I did not work, I did not think, I threw my mind in the sea. I am a weakling and a sluggard. I half-ass my living, and for this, I've fallen deep in the pit of worthlessness, which I believe should be the eighth deadliest sin, to be punished in the deep recesses of Sheol. All of the days I've lived, what have I done? I've done nothing but be a slug of the earth, a maggot, a parasite, eating all that I can from my own species to satiate my insatiable appetite for shallow happiness.

This worthless slime cannot think of an admirable attribute to praise itself with. Except perhaps persistence, or in other words, stubbornness. And this heap of insignificant shit will use this only asset to scramble out of this pit and set its eyes on the Sun it is not worthy to see.

I must remind myself of this every day because I forget what is important every happy morning. My simple mind struggles to see the signs I put up to remind myself, but I must keep trying. This is what I live for, now. And when that is done, I will live for something more. I must remember this.