I’ve been thinking a lot about my life, a lot of reflecting. This really isn’t so extraordinary I spend a lot of time doing that. I’ve been trying to find meaning to it all. I haven’t succeeded thus far. Life it seems to me, is infinitely random, bizarre, and ultimately meaningless. No higher power or hope for something greater will persuade me other wise. I’m learning to be okay with it but coming to terms with futility is dangerous to the human ego. It is an uphill struggle but it will probably be worth it in some way only meaningful to me. I guess all this makes me an existentialist. Ho hum.