What is this sense of meaninglessness that darkens me? That grays me in the day's bright light? I know not its origin but am all too familiar with its symptoms. It arrives, typically in the morning, as a hazy heartbeat thumping me awake into urgency.
But this energy has no mission, except to save me from the mission itself. I am drafted into the service of sleep, of forget, of guilt. My assignment is simple: let this feeling pass.
My inaction is a triumph, albeit a small one. For there are many more moments like this waiting their turn.