Facing the Day

The most difficult task I face on a given day, without a doubt, is getting my scrawny ass out of bed in the morning and facing the day. When that alarm sounds, I want nothing more than to smash it into bits, then throw the blanket over my head and drift back into sleep. Unfortunately, that kind of attitude doesn't pay the bills, so I soldier on.

As you read my latest in the long line of futile entries, you'll understand why I feel this way.

CNN runs a weekly program titled "This Week at War". Each and every week, they allot about a minute or so of time to flash the faces of some of the men and women in American uniform who lost their lives to maintain the status quo, and each and every week, I learn I have outlived more and more people - mind you, this pales in comparison to the thousands upon thousands of children caught in the crossfire who aren't worthy of so much as a body count, but I digress. Shit, the thought of these kids being a digression is itself unsettling.

As I was about to say, this week, there was a tie for youngest fatality, as two unfortunate souls met their end at the age of nineteen. Nineteen years old. These two individuals were barely old enough to vote, and still two years removed from a night out at the bar, and now, they're dead. These kids died in a war started by grown men who needed to quench their insatiable thirst for control over the world's monetary wealth. These kids are now among the many who had to die fighting wars they did not start. It's the same old story, and it's never easy to swallow.

I can't watch the news without yelling at the television. Our supposed authorities on the events brought to us through these mass media outlets insist on presenting information to us as if we're too stupid to understand it ourselves. They talk of banning this and censoring that because it's what's best for all of us, and, no matter what they deem the hot topic of the day, they always seem to ask the wrong questions and suck us into the wrong debates. Given the number of people who depend on television and the printed word for their dose of information, one wonders if there's any hope for us.

Somehow, though, I manage to soldier on. Somehow, I maintain my faith in humanity, however fragile it may be. Somehow, I am reminded of the beauty in the world that makes getting out of bed every morning worthwhile. Somehow, I'm not ready to give up hope. I just wish the rest of us weren't so submissive.

I apologize for the lackluster entries as of late. It's not easy for me to convey my thoughts properly, and lately, I've been at a loss for words. That being said, I wanted to close with this excerpt from The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus:

"Rising, streetcar, four hours in the office or the factory, meal, streetcar, four hours of work, meal, sleep, and Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday and Saturday according to the same rhythm - this path is easily followed most of the time. But one day the "why" rises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement. "Begins" - this is important. Weariness comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the same time, it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness. It awakens consciousness and provokes what follows. What follows is the gradual return into the chain or it is the definitive awakening. At the end of the awakening comes, in time, the consequence: suicide or recovery. In itself weariness has something sickening about it. Here, I must conclude that it is good. For everything begins with consciousness and nothing is worth anything except through it."

I bid you all good evening.