I'm doing nothing here

I'm stuck in my chair. I don't want to get up. The writing is going like a river. But what does it all mean? My husband says I should write a book as if I knew how writing a book happens. I need to have a topic. What is the topic? I could write about family life. I know so much about it. The drama. The endless line of ants in the nest that seem to be randomly and erratically going through their lives, unaware of each other and finally, disinterested and exhausted by the business of simply doing life. I think I could write about that.

I'm doing nothing here according to my husband. I am here just griping. I have no purpose. I sit. I write. I know this is purposeless stuff. I know I also need to do it. Writing isn't a university program like the type we went through and we mastered and got pieces of paper at end of that sit in boxes in our basement to remind us of the futility of all questions and the emptiness of all answers.

We all go do purposeless stuff even though we get pieces of paper for the purposeless stuff we have completed according to the dictates of our society. If it is all purposeless stuff then the purposeless stuff I'm doing here won't be any different. It just won't have a degree attached to the doing of it.

This is what I've to understand. All of our lives are purposeless, ending in death and decay. We can be engaged in our lives doing what we are required to do to pay for our lives - our paid work and it still means nothing. It all means nothing. So when my husband asks me again, what I'm doing here, I'll say the same thing I always tell him - nothing. I'm doing nothing here. But it it the same nothing we are all doing. And it is the only nothing I want to be doing.