Do you ever wonder why your here? And your purpose? Or if you’ll ever find true love? I think about these things every once in a while, and although its great being single and wild, these thoughts come and go. What about you?
As an existential nihilist, I have a problem with folks who indulge in grandiose wonderings about a greater purpose to life.
Anyone with the slightest sense of scale recognizes that nothing we do matters. In a universe so infinitely vast, our lives are entirely without meaning. The trick is being able to laugh at the abyss because you recognize the freedom it affords you.
Pondering your purpose is philosophical masturbation, and the only way you can make yourself cum is by surrendering rational thought to religious doctrine.
No thank you — I don’t need god. I already have a clit.
I’m perfectly cozy with the cold hard knowledge that I’ll die never understanding the nature of the universe. In the meantime, I’ve carved out my own little corner of paradise and filled it with all kinds of love, none of which I would insult by deeming any one more “true” than the other.
That’s another thing — I can’t stand it when grown-ass women use the word “true” as an adjective for something so important as love. There is no such thing as true love. Only love.
Going through life with the expectation of some fantastical form of uber-love is childish wish-thinking that would be silly if it weren’t so damaging to adult relationships.
Sure, I like “The Princess Bride” as much as the next gal, but fairy tales are lies we tell to children, and yet the myth of Prince Charming manages to sneak past Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny only to worm its way into our romantic expectations.
We don’t write letters to the North Pole anymore, but somehow we’re still waiting to be swept off our feet.
Again, no thank you — I don’t need a prince. I just need a guy who can find my clit.