A few times each year, it happens. I go into a funk. I’ve learned from experience it only lasts a few days but it’s ugly when it happens. What it looks like is this: I don’t want to work because nothing really matters anyway. We all die in the end.
Of course, my normal brain would never get tripped by such a silly thought. Of course the work we do matters. And all that we say and do matter, too. If one thing matters, everything matters I suppose.