What Is the Point of Life?

This is the type of question my brain asks when I wake up in the morning, still groggy, sleepy.

"What am I doing here?" my brain asks again. "What's the point of anything?"

"I don't know," I say. "I'm just trying to wake up. Those are big questions."

"Yeaah, I know," my brain says. "You need to get on this. Hurry. Hurry."

"Can I get out of bed?" I say. "Can I get breakfast? A glass of water."

"Major religions tackle these questions," my brain goes on, ignoring me. "You say your agnostic what's your take?"

"I guess I don't have answers to all those questions," I say.

"Boring," my brain says. "Do better."

"To breathe, to eat, to live. What's the point in getting so caught up about anything, having to answer all these questions?"


"I don't know. Nothing probably. That's it."

"That's it?!? Are you serious?"

"Yeah. It's be cool if my soul lived on, if it just kind of floated around. I'd love to be a ghost, scaring people."

"C'mon, get serious? WHAT HAPPENS?"

"I need to use the bathroom," I say. "Give me a minute."

"Nevermind, I don't care anymore," my brain says.

"Oh, okay."

"Yeah, see you."

I drink my water. I eat my cereal. I stare outside at the sky.  

"What's the point?" I say. "I don't know exactly, but maybe that's okay."