I have been reading some Continental philosophy recently. I am not going to pretend I understand all of it, but it's truthfully depressing. Even existentialism is depressing. I read "the my of sisyphus" and I really didn't get his argument or point of view. It would appear to me life isn't worth living. Even in Nausea and the stranger at least the main characters are getting laid and shit... like mersault finds no joy in anything but fucking Marie and smoking coffin nails. My life is shittier than theirs. We're gonna die anyway why does it matter when?