A litany of blah symptoms: bad back, long hours at work, short hours of daylight, (and all these three mean I can’t walk, so have put on kilos), work to bring home on the weekend (yuck, double yuck), listing food is boring. It’s boring me to even write it. And the killer blow? Developer wants to put in flats. Flats! Next door. I live in a lovely heritage listed house. Have I told you I swear? This makes curse, cry, scream.
Actually I just have a general sense of ennui.
You know when you are bored at work (or even at home) and people say, “Why don’t you do X?” The answer is I never said I didn’t have anything to do, just that I was bored.
And the killer? I don’t even feel like reading a book!!!
I can’t sustain the mental concentration.
I flick through my favourite blogs. And guess what? Apparently they don’t update as often as I flick! But I still flick back within the half hour, just in case. I need entertainment.
I have been doing some decluttering. But couldn’t be arsed taking photos. That sense of ennui.
I have had a half-hearted thought of putting things on eBay or gumtree to sell, but, you know….
Luckily I don’t feel the need to use shopping as entertainment.
Then some of you – Jo, Sarah – you are so good. Look at your higher consciousness, Jo, and general all round goodness. I feel guilty putting my plastic shite in the bin. And Sarah, your neatness and organised living!
Anyway, sob, moan, whinge…. Blah de, blah de, blah.
Now here’s the plan. I decided to force myself to read a book. Once into a book, I always feel better. Just need to get going.
And tomorrow, I will outline my eating issues. Maybe someone can give suggestions for improvement?
And a final random picture from google image searching for I’m bored.
Edited to add: I wore bunches growing up. Remember when they were called that and not pig tails? Or was it just my family?