What is it that we do to make our days bearable?

Do we fill the time with pointless things, like making cash and cutting grass? Cash only lasts for so many drinks, and the thing about grass is that it grows whether we cut it back or not. So pointless tasks of this or that really hold only immediate significance, as they must be repeated over and over to achieve even a little result. Do we embrace our vices, saying internally that “the end is really freaking nigh, and no one can give me a significant reason of why I should not seek happiness in pleasurable activity.” Problems result here as well, because no matter how much sex or how many cigarettes, none of these things bring true happiness. While they may help pass the time, and may make unbearable days even a little bit more exciting, when those activities end, the days become even less bearable than before. Even less bearable than before, with the added bonus of becoming an addict who cannot be happy with anything, not even his drug. Should we pour ourselves into thought and ponder of the deep abyss, of the philosophical subscriptions that perhaps are making us unhappy in the first place? No matter how much “enlightened” thought man may project, he cannot think himself past despair and into happiness. Solomon and I agree here; correct thought on the deplorable conditions surrounding our race and the destructive internal drive of man himself leads only to the conclusion that nothing is good, and that nothing can be happy. Trains of thought cannot make men or women happy.

So what then is it that we do to make our days bearable? Where is this fountain of youth, or joy, or whatever misnomer it goes by? Youth does not bring joy; no, youths want only to be older. Joy, where have you been?