Willie Hears Ya, Willie Don't Care

i rake the leaves, and the wind blows them apart once more. here i find myself a miserable parody of sisyphus, engaged in the most unsatisfying and banally repetitive of tasks.

shall i affirm my own existence by adopting happily this absurdity? or will i heed the words of epictetus -- "there is always a way out"? everything within me shudders at the thought of utter nonexistence, and yet what difference would there be? am i not already suffering the oblivion of meaninglessness now?