i'm bored. very bored. like rene magritte's tiny locomotive frozen in course out of the fireplace, life seems to stand still while i poke about my room, or poke about online, looking for something to do or signs of life. it's a quiet, hum-drum evening - just as dull as the desolate dining room in the painting, just as dull as the mirror reflecting nothing more than the brownish-grey abyss of a wasteland. as i take a drag on my cigarette and sip my scotch, smoke eddies around my head and around my desk lamp before slowly diminishing into the air, seemingly evaporating into the cream off-white walls itself. sure, i could do work, but today's been characterized by a general funk which has deterred me from reading since morning. my head is fuzzy and my eyelids feel droopy, while my body struggles to decide whether or not it truly wants to brave the 12 degree F temperatures outside for a breath of fresh air --
nothing is so aggravating than calmness.
: wilde.
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