Fruitless labour or engaging hobby?

Most of the time, I see the last few months of life like being a room. With no windows. There is a door though, but it's jammed shut.
I spend my days pushing against the wall. I just push and push, getting nothing out of it.
Sometimes I wonder why I do it, but I don't see life any other way because if I wasn't pushing against that wall, I'd be doing nothing at all. I would spend my life waiting for the door to open. Somehow, I'd rather push against the wall.. because there is some hope it might give way.

Blah.
I lost my point.