the unbearable existential boredom of being

[cimorene]

i feel like i'm about to die of boredom, which is a state i've realised has nothing to do, at least for me, with what i actually have to do.  there is no shortage of things to do.  i've started a post; i'm halfway through writing a ficlet; i've got homework, several half-finished books, and plenty of tv and dvds waiting to be watched.  but this doesn't matter!  it's like boredom is some kind of emotion with a completely random existential origin.  like religious ecstasy!  which may actually be because of neurons misfiring or whatever, but then, for that matter, so could boredom be.  i just want it to go away.  or else for someone to show up and entertain me.

the last week i've been going through the entries in the sentinel cliché ficathon from last summer (which has been entertaining in that cheesy sentinel way and also occasionally in that OMGbadfic way) and the prince of tennis recs in bookshop's journal.  i like the schoolboy thing about as much as i dislike anything to do with sports, but it tends to even out in favour of the slash there, so that's all right.

Comments

[morningfine]

Kind of lying. I have this.

And, I'm sure, but there's only one that matters. I have several versions, being crazy, but how about I don't attempt to share them ALL.

Me too. I also wish there was a still photo of Andraé's dash among the pigeons for the same reason.

[cimness.livejournal.com]

now i remember--it was on one of my jazz albums that i couldn't find when i was ripping all my music at home before i moved to finland.

yeah, the pigeon caps were kind of sad. all of them turned out kind of inadequate.