Fact of matter is, I can't recollect ever having been this bored. There has always been something to do or someone to call. No, this time around is something unique. If boredom was art, then I would be suffering from the Mona Lisa-syndrome.
I have become the victim of my new lifestyle. How could I have been so gullible to believe that the transition from old to new would be so smooth? But one thing is for certain, this is a test of endurance. Good things will never come easy. That is something that I have to keep in mind. Something to sponsor my patience and my endurance. Hopefully in a not so distant future, everything will turn around completely, and my terrible boredom will be nothing more but a vague and suppressed experience. However, the situation now is nowhere near bliss. It is in fact one of those horror stories that you will tell friends and acquaintances about on your first encounter with them.
Unfortunately my boredom has me confined to this place that I'm currently calling my new home. I share this home with a dog, a horde of cats, and a room mate. Despite my efforts I have been unable to establish any significant social bond with her. I have tried on numerous occasions to suggest that we do something more social in a desperate attempt to relieve my boredom, but it's all in vain.
I suppose that she's the introverted type of character, which prefers to mentally idle alone rather in the company of others, or perhaps it's simply bad chemistry between the two us. The last suggestion seems to be the most accurate.
As I mentioned before there are also cats wandering around the house. These cats have somehow contributed to my frustration. I think it's either anger that's spawned from my bored state of mind or envy. “Envy?”, you ask. Yes, being a cat must be incredibly simple. Your life has very little or no worries. You sleep pretty much twenty hours a day, eat, sleep and crap, and at a certain time of year, you get this uncontrollable urge to shag or get shagged.
There's one of those cats though that really makes my doors blow. There's something about this cat that I am unable to put my finger on. The body suggest some odd form of feline dwarfism. Nothing on that cat's body seems to be proportional. In fact I would say that the cat looks like Dr. Frankenstein's early experiments; A predecessor to his monster. Its fur looks like a desert camouflaged uniform worn by American soldiers during the Gulf war. Not only does it look hideous, it also behaves very strangely compared to the other cats in this house. It's this combination that triggers a primal instinct in me, which tempts me to reek terrible acts of violence upon this cat. Truth be told, I would never harm the beast, but the temptation still lurks beneath the surface. Fortunately, this cat comprehends that I hold no love for it, and always disappears like a streak of back alley cat-DNA residue, when it sees me approaching. But indeed the cat provokes a torrent of malicious thoughts through my head. This cat is the devil.
The cat that I dislike the least is definitely the crippled cat, Princess. She can't walk on her back legs and drags the back of her body around like a feline broomstick sweeping the floor for whatever dirt it may come across. Seeing her walk around in the beginning is very disturbing, but after while you get used to it. I did see her running once. It was admirable but also rather humoristic at the same time. She looked like steam powered miniature locomotive that was using the paralysed back legs like an engineered pump that boosts velocity. Particularly this cat for some reason seems much less annoying. It may be sympathy for her physical condition.
It is imperative that I find a way to cure this overwhelming boredom, before I succumb to it. At this point I'm out of ideas of what to do exactly. Perhaps I'm looking for an answer at all the wrong places, when the obvious answer is right in front of me. In my experience that's how it tends to be quite oftenly.
Edward T. Shufflebottom
No comments:
Post a Comment