How many things, as humans, do we do on a daily basis that we know to be futile—on average? (I don't expect us to consider every living human being.) I would ask you how many things you do that you know to be futile, but I can't because you don't exist. It would be a futile enterprise to try to speak to you, and yet, and yet! here I sit, doing it. I do not know how many activities, on average, our species engages in with the certain knowledge of their inherent and inescapable futility, but here is a short list of things I suspect many people consider futile but do anyway: prayer. There, that is my short list. I mean no disrespect to the gods people pray to, but my guess is, most people talk to their god or gods and don't feel any turning of any great ears listening, they do not feel the throb of any heart other than their own in response to their soliloquy, they do not feel any presence other than the presence of themselves inside an empty space that only grows with every whispered plea and invocation and with every humble song. That is my guess. I think the blame can be laid squarely at the feet of the gods for this—they could listen if they wanted to. And if they're listening, and don't let us know they're listening? Well, shit. At any rate, I made the list short because the list is long. I did not know when I began this paragraph that there were many and many things we do as humans that we either know to be or at least suspect are futile, but I learned in thinking about it that this is probably exactly the case. So the fact that every day I write to you, who does not exist, well, it does not mean I have some outsized quirk that falls under the heading of "Pathetic," it just makes me someone who swims in the very clotted and likely fetid ocean of humanity, doing things without any hope of their having any consequence or meaning whatsoever. It is the sea of Just Because.