Every once in a while i go through a kind of existential crisis that effectively ruins my day, a self inflicted quandary that I struggle to extricate myself from. I have come to loathe the question on the purpose of existence, I think of dismissing it as a jejune exercise but get miserably stuck with it. It is the most banal question that comes up with such an infuriating frequency, even when I dont want to know the answer. Its like the intrusive neighbour who imposes his company on you just when you arrive home after a long day. It bores you, to the point where you are left wondering if the lives of other people is any better and makes you want to switch lives with just about anybody if it means an escape from the depressing question.