Ennui

Dostoyevsky: Notes From the Underground
"Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to be in love. I suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you. In the depth of my heart there was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but yet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside myself ... and it was all from ennui, gentlemen, all from ennui; inertia overcame me."

The sky is immense. I see an expanse of grey moving haze without periphery. Two little birds flutter around like tiny black dots, little noticing the awe-inspiring vastness that canvass their presence. I sit on my work desk across the huge glass window and feel tinier than an atom. It isn't always pleasant to feel small and it wrecks your head to be thinking. Boredom is a curious thing. It makes you do things that boggles your mind or satiates it to the extent of being brain dead. It isn't always pleasant when you give in to the idea of musing, lying on your bed staring vacantly at nothing or sitting with your hands on your chin, giving rein to your unruly thoughts.

What do I propose? I should watch a movie.