Nothing

A day spent doing nothing. I am often left with a strong feeling of non-accomplishment at the end of a day. A feeling of having done nothing, accomplished nothing, read nothing. No constructive work, no deed to speak of. A full 24 hours have passed, and it's almost as though I've just stood at one place, watching the wheel roll past me. I've done nothing about it. I haven't ridden it, haven't even climbed up on it or made the effort to; I haven't even tried to push the wheel on its way. A nothingness, a void at the end of the day. Nothing has changed from yesterday. 

Yet I've done all my daily chores. I got up on time, got ready, went to college, came back, slept, watched some television, played a few small computer games, read a few lines of a detective story, had my dinner... and what? What did I do? When I ask myself that question at the end of the day, I am left with an answer that matches my mood, my feelings and my state of mind: nothing. 

The simplicity of it terrifies me. Because nothingness is the void, the unknown. I fear the unknown. A listlessness that inspires a morbid fear of dying from stagnation. Added to that is the time factor: if time appeared to have stopped, and me having done nothing, then probably the guilt wouldn't be there. But here I'm painfully aware of a day and a night having whizzed by, each hour screaming "MEANINGLESS!" at me. 

This is when studies start appealing. If anything, they're a sure shot answer to giving shape to shapeless minutes. They're an excuse to keep your mind occupied, rather than let it spend the whole time trying to figure out how to spend the time. Knowledge gained is a deed accomplished. That void starts to lift. The darkness inside starts to fill with distant rays of light. A hope tingles, purpose is found again. You start clawing your way out of the tangle you're in. The jungle suddenly appears friendly; the mountain, not so forbidding after all.