Defiance

I'm so f-ing tired. I spent the whole day climbing up and down a mountain, literally, mostly while barefoot. I had very little to eat, even less to drink. I'm exhausted, i'm bruised all over and i'm ready to collapse.

So, why am i writing?

Every action must have purpose, even this one. I am writing to prove a point--not only to prove a point through what i write, but prove it by the act of writing itself. If i take into account the conditions i've stated above, coupled with the facts that i have no drive whatsoever to be writing anything, and honestly, nothing really to write about, then practicality/logic/natural tendencies would imply that i should already be asleep on my bed. But no, i'm here in front of my computer, punching little black keys in the hope of writing something coherent.

I write to protest. I write to exercise my freedom. I write in defiance of my present condition. This is, according to Frankl, Man's Ultimate Freedom. I am not governed by my surroundings. My actions are not determined by the environment. I'll live and die in a manner entirely of my choosing. I choose, in spite of everything else. That, above all, makes a man free.


...
Excuse me while i die of exhaustion.