Bawring

I'm home, and I'm bored. Before you ask; no, one is not a natural corollary of the other, though there is a very high degree of correlation there. But we've all been told countlessly; correlation is not causation.

Now the crux of the issue: why am I bored?

(At this point, I'm beyond caring about whether you care or not, you know. This is no democracy. You're here; this is my land; you're interested in what I'm interested in. Period.)

Now that's clear: I'm bored because I have nothing to do. To be more precise, I am not doing anything that I would like to or feel useful doing, and do not at all feel like doing what I would feel useful doing, and hence, I'm bored. It's a circular definition, you see.

As we're done with the major question, we'll go to effects: what does boredom do to people (me; I'm all you need to care about)?

When one is bored, one starts to... feel sluggish. Like a big pickled slug on a dirty table that nobody cares to clean up; a dead slug that doesn't want to move or dance or talk or think or sing. And then one detests movement of all kinds, especially of the brain centre, which would facilitate thinking.

If it's good kind of boredom, then one might take note of the joy of slipping one's hand into heaped grain, like in Amelie. But if it isn't, then all mental faculties slow down liiiiikeee theeeeeess aaaaand one feeeeeelss aas thoughhh one'ss a browkenn graamophoonne recorrrdddd.

And then one gets addicted to brainless films and magazines and staring into the void thinking of nothing, and then becomes a pickled slug/caterpillar oneself.

It's not a good life - a slug's - I tell you. Rather unexciting. Self-perpetuating boredom, so to speak. Don't become one. *nods*