a happy life? today continued the stream of casual nihilism and apathy i've had for what seems like the past few millenia. when you don't have an answer to the question "why do i wake up in the morning?" nothing really gets through to you; things stop mattering. finished reading "a happy death" by albert camus. it will probably go in the top 20 of books. sort of focused on what i'm trying to do myself, find a life of happiness and meaning. only, the protagonist ended up murdering a wealthy cripple in order to achieve the monetary freedom necessary to free oneself from work and time, and enjoy life by yourself, as yourself. odd, he even moved out to the european country with a nice view, like i had planned/dreamed/forgot about as well. indeed, camus is one of my favorite authors. it's nearing 9 now, and i have work early tomorrow. (programming my winter break/life away). sometimes it all seems to useless, so futile, and yet i'm bound there by inexplicable links. i can't be freed, because in all honesty, what else would i do? i have nothing else to live for, really. i still haven't realized my "happy life" which would lead to "happy death". i wonder if i ever will.