Despair, it's what's for breakfast.

Francis Bacon once said, "Hope is a good breakfast, but it is a bad supper." Well, it's better to have hope for dinner than to starve on despair, cause you only wake up to more despair.

It's not that it's Monday. It's that it's Monday and there is no hope for the week. The people are soffacating me. Maybe I should just give up this impossible task of finding meaning in the world for myself. There doesn't seem to be any. I should just go and bury myself in the hole I live in. This world isn't for me: meaningless, confusing, frivolous.

People want to help, but they can't. How do you solve a problem that isn't defined? I don't know my troubles. Everyone takes it upon themselves to try to define what my trouble is. Oh and it's always just one trouble that I have, and they have the magic solution. No there is no one problem, it is a collection of them, most undefined. People want to interfere, calling it help, most of the time making it worse, making me want to hide from the world again and again.

I may never find the answers to my problems. I may never find the problems themselves. I've come to accept this, and I will live another day.