Purpose

I know I've been quite quiet or inconsistent lately. But that can all be explained.
When I sit down and think, and realize what's on my mind, my goals, my aspirations, are all...kind of pointless. The world has been ravaged beyond repair, none of this has meaning, except maybe making the transition to the end of civilization a little smoother?

I'm so bored with life. And it's a boredom that cannot be solved with a good book, project, or adventure to take off on. My life really has no meaning beyond those I write letters and emails to.
Isn't that just so pathetic?
That even could it be conceivable that you do something great with your life, it doesn't really matter anyway.
Because in some other galaxy there is another world,
that thinks it is alone, also.
And my existence has no meaning beyond the seconds and moments that pass.
We exist within a snow globe, of sorts.
I'm stuck here.
Rotting away.
On this fucking shit heap that I did not fucking create!

Is there even a point to pleasure? Just to finish out this existence because I pretty much have to at this juncture.
What a strange world we are.
All thinking we matter.