Why am I ... sitting on an anthill?

It’s a ritual, that’s what it is. An activity that’s little more than perfunctory. I’m not going to delve too deeply into the specifics of what I’m talking about because, to put it simply, there’s no need to. I think that many of us are guilty of engaging in mindless routines at one point or another.

I myself was engaged in a routine of this nature (ie. mindless) the other day when it suddenly hit me: why? Why am I here? Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this as opposed to say, lighting a match to my scrunchies collection or watching reruns of the A-Team?

Am I being driven by some deep-seated moral obligation? Is it the remnants of a conviction I experienced a year ago (which, by the way, has considerably watered down by now)? Is it simply because I’m a creature of habit? Do I partake in this ritual purely out of guilt? Am I doing this as a way to appease my conscience and to hopefully, alleviate my otherwise morally bankrupt existence? Or is it simply because I have nothing better to do? At the risk of sounding vague and elusive, I think it’s a combination of all the above.

I’ve always believed that unless I can come up with at least one compelling reason to do something, I shouldn’t be bothered to do it. I should always be ready to defend every decision I make – for instance, “I have decided to eat this banana instead of that Toblerone bar for breakfast because chocolate gives me hives.” Because if I’m unable to find a compelling enough reason, then why am I doing what I’m doing? Unless guilt is a compelling reason, thereby making this discussion purely self-indulgent and utterly pointless.