The Point?

I just bought a sandwich for lunch, and once again that feeling of pointlesness just fell down on me. Why am I buying this sandwich? There's no joy in it. I don't care how it tastes (verything tastes like ashes), I don't care if I'm hungry, I don't care if I work or if I don't. I. Just. Don't. Care. There's no point in going to work, there's no point in staying at 'home', there's no point in studying, there's no point in not studying, there's no point in staying sober, there's no point in drinking, there's no point in listening to music, there's no point in staying in the silence. I do things just because I have to, so my material world won't fuck up even more. The only joy I have is buying things and having some sort of (imagined) luxury around me, but that joy is extremely fleeting and vapid. It's like trying to catch smoke or mist. And it's all just surface deep. I feel like a turd wrapped in gold foil.

Everything is so far away. There's nothing on the horizon. Just more grey desert to walk through. Grey desert and invisible holes of quicksand that I continue to step in.

Well, I got a little ego boost yesterday anyway. A lady (30+) tried to pick me up by basically saying only "shouldn't you come with me instead" after she asked me where I was going. I said no. Unfortunately, maybe. But I don't know. I don't want to fuck. I can't even masturbate properly anymore. And that's OK, too. But it was nice and fun anyway.

I'm tired of just existing.