Ignoring the soccer mum's suspicious glares, I wandered around for a few hours, the realisation that I knew nothing about Ancient Mesopotamia, becoming increasingly embarrassing. I'd woken up angry that morning. Maybe it was a continued hangover from my exploits two nights before, or something in the water, but it was good to to try and calm my initial desire to punch a wall as hard as I could.
Standing in the dimply lit exhibition, learning about the very first appearance of writing in human history, the tower of babel, sweet six thousand year old jewellery, I found my mood relaxing, evening out, to one of mute indifference. This sounds negative, but for me it's actually quite positive. It basically entails me realising that nothing that happens to me matters at all in the grand scheme of things.
Now, as cautious as I am about concepts like grand scheme of things, I still do think that humans learning to write is way cooler than me wanting to punch walls. I'll call this 'controlled gloom': realising that your life is pointless, which in turn means that nothing can be that bad after all.
Which, you know, is kinda optimistic. I think.