Chronicling the Consternation of a Chronic Insomniac

Would that it were not so.

During the course of a consequential conversation with an acquaintance in Tampa today, we coincidentally came to contemporaneous conclusions that the last ticket for the last Hullabaloo sold was the harbinger of the end of an era. And with that realization came our concurrent consternation. Consternation that everything that was once important would have no singular significance. Consternation that what had once defined our lives amounted to little more than puerile delusion. Consternation that our lives lacked lasting lucidness.

Possibly the prophpetic portent of a portentous progression in philosophical paradigm?

Would that it were not so.