Circumambulation

Life is simply an insipid circumambulation around the banalities of survival.

Straightjacketed within the sheath of security, we purchase a morbid stability at the cost of joie de vivre.

It is better to keep harkening to the gibberish of a fool and laugh inside than participating in that bunk and feel angry outside.

Literature resuscitates observations of life. 

Her catamenial inconsistency renders her insecure and depressed.