Sweet mother of [insert deity here]! Isn't it astounding that I can go four months without writing in here, without so much as an explanation? Is it more or less of an insult to my intelligence that I cannot even reason with myself to come up with an appropriate excuse for my literary hiatus? A hurricane has to make landfall for this saga (for lack of a better word) to be reopened, apparently. I'm not sure if an apology is in order or not. I suppose I will have to resort to the usual technique; write incessantly until all memory of my literary drought is washed away.
Two distinct moods are present within my empty apartment. On one hand, it is somewhat therapeutic sitting alone in this enormous space, with nothing heard but the rain, increasing wind, and my own keystrokes. On the other hand, the silence is eerie and foreboding, and the emptiness somewhat saddening. Perhaps it is this very duality that has finally put me in the mood for writing again.
If the amount of writing I attempt coincides directly with a contradictory, yet ultimately pleasant mood, I fear for my future career.
So far I have been successful in saying nearly absolutely nothing in the most verbose way possible. I suppose I have all of those years of high school writing, that is to say writing about something I clearly have scant knowledge of. Yet I was in the top ten percentile of my high school graduating class. Add that to the list of things I truly don't deserve, with all of the nonexistent effort I put into high school academics, it would have been more appropriate for me to be a C student, at best. College sure was a wake up call- actually having to try to earn good grades? There's a concept that is very foreign to me.
Writing to cure boredom is a dangerous hobby. Unfortunately, it has become my first line of defense against the most contagious of mood-altering disorders, boredom. Boredom is an interesting concept. (Irony!) There should be no reason for a person to be bored at all, considering the options available to amuse oneself at any given moment. Granted, my opportunities are somewhat limited by the arrival of bad weather, but even that is by choice.
Simply put, we are bored by choice. The opportunities one has at any moment are so vast, it would be impossible to name them all. I myself can think of several stimulating, or otherwise productive activities I could potentially be engaging myself in. (I'd rather not list them all, as it would only further the guilt I feel in not pursuing these activities.) I'm fairly certain that I'm not alone in this type of thinking- there is a whole host of interesting things to do, yet the initiative to actually start them is not present. Therefore, it is not boredom itself that is the factor here, laziness acts as the catalyst to boredom; because simply, it's too damn tiring to actually try doing anything.
Hopefully future entries will not be as sparsely placed, and although I can promise nothing, I can certainly take the initiative to try and write more. Unless it gets boring, of course. Thank you for reading!
Word of the day:
penurious - adjective:
1. Extremely poor.
2. Extremely frugal or stingy