It’s a feeling which I get from time to time. And it’s like this: I have just finished or am finishing a task (the mileage may vary from personal, like cleaning my toaster, to professional, like wrapping up the latest n’ greatest hack). The dominant emotion pondering the outcome of my hard work is satisfaction, or something close. This emanates from judging the results (always based on arguable personal quality standards) as good, excellent, magnificent, exceptional, what ever. I feel good with what I see or hold before me. And the next moment I am empty. I think what’s the point?. What’s the fuss all about? Why do I spent my time and energy on this? It’s not necessarily that I have an alternative in mind, a better way to fill my hours (even if I had the choice, not something very likely). Even if it’s good, it’s nice, fuck it!. It’s not that I am better, or the world is better, or my problems have suddenly gone away. Does it matter at all that I did it?. No, not in my eyes. I could not even be here tomorrow to use it, feel happy about it or something. I don’t get angry. Just feel hollow. And then I turn away. I don’t discard it or bury it. I just leave it be. Maybe after five weeks I’ll be at it again. Or maybe so in five minutes. But it’s draining… that feeling.