Seven: Spinnin' and reelin'

Oh, Gods almighties.

There's an expression we sometimes take for granted. "Bored to tears." I say this sometimes like it means nothing, like I could interchange the qualifier of the statement. "Bored to hell," "bored to death," whatever. But "bored to tears," I cannot know the meaning of until a night like tonight. I literally just want to go to my room and cry, that's how bored I am.

Being a manly man, I don't even remember the last time I cried, although it might be a lot more recent than I think, and I only don't remember because I've made it my business to forget, because crying is embarrassing. Emotions are embarrassing. Hence, I don't show 'em in public often.

That said, the boredom has got me down. I'm beat, I'm bummed, I'm blue. All the bad words start with "b." There's gotta be a poem in there somewhere.

There's no cure for this, it seems. I've been sitting on my computer all night reading old webcomics and playing Spider Solitaire, which owns my soul in the way Freecell used to. The worst part is that I have about a dozen things I could be doing - reviews, dishes, stories, whatever other stuff - but I can't because I have no motivation. I've got nothing but a void inside of me, a restless portal into nothingness. Winter blahs indeed.

Times like these are compounded not only by the weather - the cold and the darkness - but by my worst enemy... my mind. Once brought down, I begin to wallow in all the damn things that depress me.

It probably won't surprise longtime readers of this blog - or anyone who pays attention - that I spend an inordinate amount of time absorbed in my own thoughts. I have an overactive imagination, which helps me as a writer, but is a burden I have to walk around shouldering. My mind has been distracted for weeks on some of the most miserable, depressed thoughts I could ever muster. For the most part I've palyed 'em down and been able to leave 'em behind a lot of the time, but I keep coming back to 'em. And I don't understand why I can't get out of my head.

I just mean that. There are times when I literally have trouble reminding myself that I exist in the physical world, that there are things to see and touch and those are the things that are real, and that 99.9% of what goes on inside my head is not. Not tangible, not corporeal, not something that acts on my real life. I feel like I've got a monster in my closet. I'm paranoid as motherfuck. I feel like I'm giving off bad vibes out into the universe, and I can't let myself see the truth.

Because the truth, as I see it, is pretty sweet. I live a very comfortable life. I'm among the most advantaged demographics in the world: I'm a straight, white, middle-class male living in a first-world/developed wester nation, aged 18-40. I'm attending the second most reputable institute in the country. I have a sharp mind, I'm creative, and some would say I've got a sense of humour. I know a good deal about the world around me and am eager to learn more. I treat most people with goodwill and consideration, or at least try. I should focus less on what I don't have and agree that what I have is plenty for now. And if I have to spend a saturday night in idleness, that's my own damn fault, ain't it? And I'm good enough to know that and to try harder in the future to use my time. These are the things I can know. They are the things that will not change. Fuck Hume and Russell, fuck skepticism; Chisholm knew his shit and so do I. This is life.

This sounds like an epiphany, but I'm wary of that notion. I go through three or four such epiphanies a week, sometimes multiple in a day. Then I forget and need to convince myself all over again that I'm living in the 3-D world. By writing it out, I'm hoping it will stick, and maybe it will.

I'm on a bit of a Zeppelin kick lately. It started when I heard a song on the radio and had to go find out what it was; Misty Mountain Hop. From there I began collecting up all the Zep tunes I really dig.

I spent the last three days or so mostly decompressing from the semester. I did nothing, and I did it unenthusiastically. I was just totally drained. Weather aside, it's time to get a bit more rejuvinated, and to attack some of those projects, not the least of which is a big ass pile of dishes sitting on the counter. God knows what's growing in my sink. Time for action. How do housewives do it?

This entry hasn't exactly been the most positive I ever did, but considering how it started, it could've been worse, no?

Like I said, I've done nothing of note since my last exam. I've bummed around town as best I could in the cold. I've brought my winter coat out; it's still comparatively huge, but it keeps me plenty warm. Addiction is a powerful thing, and somehow even snow and ice (and a nearly-cracked elbow from falling) will not keep me from coffee. I've got a sickness of sorts.

I haven't been sick, per se, but not well either. It's impressive, though, because by this time last year I had already been sick in early November. So far this year I've gotten off with a bit of the sniffles and a nasty phlegmy cough, CB-style. I keep telling myself "I should have a cup of tea," but I have a hard time working it into my beverage cycle. If I ordered it from Tim's I'd feel like I was defeating the purpose, plus I'd just tell myself "Why? I've got plenty at home." Then I'd get home and think "Well it takes so long to make." So I haven't been drinking tea.

Yes, it's sooo hard to see how I've been bored.

This is not post #900. Somewhere along the way I accumulated 12 un-posted half-entries, which means I'm at 888, which is a funny number to look at.

'Nuff said. Keep on rockin'
-Scott
YOUR role model.