On the phone you ask "what kind of meaning do you want? What would satisfy you?"
"I don't know," I say. "I feel like I'm stuck in a movie and I just want there to be enough there that engaging my suspension of disbelief will actually lead to some kind of reward."
"You're so dark," you say, laughing.
After we stop talking I lay in bed, look at the ceiling. Tomorrow I suppose I'll get up early, make another attempt to do something relevant for someone, somewhere. Tonight I feel like I'm at the edge of the ocean at night. I wish I could dive into it, learn about the all the strange creatures living beneath the surface. Or maybe swim accross, discover a new continent. But I just have this tiny body, and I can't see very well now that the sun has set. So all I can do is look at the waves and wonder.
I am not sad, but I don't understand.