I get up, work, eat, shit, wash myself, socialize, and take care of business despite abundant evidence that there’s no point in any of this. The executive brain says: “This makes no sense; why do we continue?” The soul says “I’m empty; this has no future”. But the colon and the leg muscles and the jaw keep clanking along obstinately, dragging the rest of me around.
I’m Galvani’s frog leg jerking to the current. And, maybe, so are you.