I regret to inform you that I will not be dying today.
This is not out of hope, nor courage, nor any particularly admirable trait. Let the record show: I remain unconvinced by life’s supposed “beauty,” unmoved by its sales pitch, and deeply suspicious of anyone who describes it as a gift without including a receipt.
No, my continued existence is, at best, a clerical error I have chosen not to correct.
I have reviewed the arguments. I have read The Myth of Sisyphus and noted the insistence that one must imagine Sisyphus happy. I do not imagine him happy. I imagine him tired, irritated, and increasingly passive-aggressive toward the rock. And yet, he pushes.
Not because it matters. Not because it ends. But because the alternative would grant the universe a kind of victory it has not earned.
I have also consulted Emil Cioran, who kindly confirmed that existence is, in fact, a mistake. A relief, honestly. It’s nice to have that in writing. Still, even he lingered; complaining, observing, refusing to exit the stage he so clearly despised.
Which brings me here: not hopeful, not redeemed, but… present.
Let it be known that I do not stay for the usual reasons. Not for destiny, nor progress, nor the vague promise that things will “get better.” I stay out of curiosity, irritation, and a stubborn refusal to let absurdity have the last word.
If existence insists on being meaningless, then I will insist on experiencing it anyway. If only to document the failure.
I will drink bad coffee. I will argue with strangers. I will laugh at things that probably shouldn’t be funny. I will continue to observe humanity with a mix of fascination and disappointment, like a critic who refuses to leave a terrible play.
And yes, I will continue to wake up—begrudgingly, skeptically, but consistently.
Not as an act of faith.
As an act of defiance.
So no, this is not a farewell. It is, if anything, a protest. A refusal to resolve the tension. A decision to remain, not because life is good, but because it is absurd, and I am not finished mocking it.
Sincerely,
Someone who is still, inexplicably, here
Sisyphus Shrugged 