Being spoilt

Last entry was about boredom. A luxury decease...

Tonight I read a short story by Agnes von Krusenstjerna: Stulet nyår (Stolen new-year). It's about a woman in her forties, early last century. She was old, tired, gray, run-down and dirty, had never been kissed, had never eaten herself full, never been warm enough.

On New Year's eve she was watching the house of her master. She had already watered the flowers and should have left. But she stayed, tried the Missus clothes, felt their delicate fabric and texture, walked on the soft carpets, combed herself with a silver comb and felt all wonderful smells. Someone called to wish the family a happy end to the year, to her! She was in heaven. She forgot all about her gray shed, the cold, the rats, her hard bed.

While reading I realized what a spoiled little brat I am! I have more clothes than enough, can eat more than enough every day, have been kissed by too many, I am young, clean, strong and healthy, full of energy. What the hell am I complaining about??? Oh, I don't have a girl-friend! Oh, I can't buy everything I want! Oh, I don't know what shoes to buy! What the hell? Wake up! You're a privileged man! Enjoy it! And be thankful, brat.

Boredom

I'm so fuckin' bored! In fact, I'm so bored no one I talked to yesterday has said as much as "beep" to me today. I know I can be quite energetic, but it's usually in a positive way. I must have turned the energy flow and have now become a walking black hole, sucking out all energy.

In fact, I'm so bored I've had all kinds of daydreams about starting fights, just so that something would happen. Or some armed robbers would jump on the train and I could blow their brains out. Because I wouldn't give a shit anyway, so I'd fool them.

Nothing feels appealing. Not even jerking off. Or the fact I'm going to book a snowboard trip or three tomorrow. The ice-cream I'm eating tastes good, but it doesn't really feel good eating that crap after having a flue for the last few weeks and been eating only unhealthy stuff (you're allowed to do that when you're ill).

I can't go for a jog or to the gym or do any gong-fu, due to my recovering from that mentioned fuckin' flue. I don't have the energy to work either. I feel poor, so I can't waste money in any hooker bar in the neighbourhood, or get drunk (I don't like getting drunk anymore anyway, after the fucking aussies beat me up in Ireland last fall). I scared off my friends. I've slept so much in the past weeks there's no way I could fall asleep. I don't want to call anyone, gotten wise after yesterday...


So, left to my own devices, what the fuck to do? Well, being a thinking individual, why not analyse this shit?

So, what is it? I'm afraid this is the reaction that follows after realizing I can't just run after kicks anymore and then cut down a bit too much on the fun stuff. It's all about balance. Yin and yan. I need to have fun, but there has to be some balance to it. Not too much, not too little. Walking a fucking stick...