The Myth of Sisyphus

So it begins, this absurdity. Even the reference to Sisyphus or anything Camus is absurd, not because he champions that subject but because much of my knowledge of his work is tied to…a lost love who, absurdly, was a Philosophy Major and whose entire undergrad thesis was about Sisyphus.

Lending to an even greater absurdity is the fact that this so-called ‘lost love’ made an appearance yesterday.  It was weird but not disconcerting, which I think is a very good sign that I have moved on.  Ah, but I digress.

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Secrets by Alice Smith

Where was I?  The Myth of Sisyphus:

Camus presents Sisyphus’s ceaseless and pointless toil as a metaphor for modern lives spent working at futile jobs in factories and offices. “The workman of today works every day in his life at the same tasks, and this fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious.”

Earlier this evening I became conscious of the absurdity of my life.  It’s not really about work, as I do love what I’m doing, but more on a general note that I feel like I am not getting anywhere.

I am what society calls as having a quarter-life crisis.

At twenty-three, this is all so premature.  I’m supposed to have at least a year more of unadulterated bliss before life hits me square in the face, isn’t it?  But I guess leaving home signed me out of that privilege.  This is the universe’s way of giving me the finger for having taken destiny by the horns and riding it.  Yes, I believe that last sentence is wrong in so many levels but I am sure you get what I mean.

You know, I am usually a very cheery person.  However, I can only do so much as ‘pretend’ that everything is okay because it is far from being okay.  The state of my finances is probably one of my bigger and more pressing dilemmas as I am using two-thirds of my pay on overhead expenses and the rest on paying off debt leaving me practically penniless.  This depresses me, being broke depresses me a lot.

Sadly, money is only the tip of the iceberg.  I have other issues to deal with, other monsters to face, other skeletons that are hiding in my closet.  The even sadder part is, I’m unsure what these ‘others’ are.  But I feel it inside me.  It is a gnawing feeling that won’t go away and it eats me up inside.

I sense a storm coming.

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Broken by Late of the Pier