Boredboredboredboredbored

If you haven't already got the gist of this post from the title, then I encourage you to see a brain doctor for a CAT scan.

As you may or may not have guessed (see above statement), I am pretty much bored out of my wits. This stems from the fact that I get to go and see 'The Hunger Games' tomorrow. As such, time moves very slowly for me at present - relatively speaking, of course - and robs me of the spectacular imaginative streak that I like to utilise to think of things to do.

Being bored isn't necessarily a case of having nothing to do. This is made fairly obvious to a body when he or she is sitting at a desk at work, bored with typing up a report. There is, quite obviously, something to be doing, however that doesn't banish boredom from the equation. In my case, this is doubly true. There are people I could be talking to, work I could be doing, things to be writing, movies to be watching - and yet I don't do any of these. I would tell you that I'm simply posting to illuminate those in darkness and talk to those willing to listen, but that would be a load of poetic drivel. Not to mention it being a lie.

Several things occur to me in this moment.

1. I am not doing any work (N.B. I don't consider blogging work), though I could be making use of this time to do so. This is because I simply cannot be bothered.
2. I'm not outside, chasing a ball in a pointless excercise. This is because I can actually spot that there is no point in this activity as I am an overthinking, condescending being of complete and utter laziness. From that statement, you may extrapolate another conclusion as to why I'm not playing football or otherwise excercising.
3. I'm not making harmonic music with my instruments, for one of them is being borrowed from someone else as the original is getting fixed and I don't like the one I've been loaned and the other requires me to connect some cables into the input and output jacks of the guitar and amplifier and I simply cannot be bothered with it. Plus, the clarinet needs assembling and I'm not in a constructive mood right now.
4. I could be writing the next great classic of literature, but I appear not to have a Microsoft Word or Celtx file open. This is because my imagination is kaput and I have no inclination to do any work at all. Note the use of the word 'inclination' rather than 'inspiration'. I have plenty of inspiration, but next to none of the former.

Because it requires effort to do any of the listed activities, I'm not going to partake in any of the above. Instead, I'm now going to type simply what's coming into and exiting my head as and when it does so.

Message begins: BoredboredboredboredHungerGamesHungerGamesHungerGames - I'm hungry. Pizzapizzapizzapizza. Forearm. Why is it there? Bite forearm. Ouch. Gertrude. Why'd I think that? I don't even know anyone called Gertrude, asides from that cow. Squirrel. Running, leaping, flopping, eating. Pizzapizzapizzapizza. ZZZZZ. Zedzedzedzedzed. That is how it must be said. Woo... I'm a ghost. No I'm not, I'm alive and kicking - no, wait, typing - simply typing. Typin' in ma boots. Boots. Durable, hardy, rubber. Blackbury. Johnny and the Dead. Terry Pratchett. Sure thing, bruv. Deathy Hallows, Part 1. Deathly Hallows, Part 2. Ex-girlfriend. Why did I think that? Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock.

And that concludes my thoughts for today.

I'm off to be bored and play Mancala.