i'm bored

i'm bored.
really.
i'm so bored that i'm boring my dog, who at present is flopped on her bed giving me a reproachful look for my complete and utter failure to even remotely serve as entertainment.
damn dog.
maybe she should go out and earn a living, instead of sleeping all day and showing her thanks to me - her savior, her center, her alpha, her protector - by shredding her poor inanimate brethren (is it sick to give a dog a stuffed dog?) and distributing cotton batting throughout the house with wanton abandon that would suggest that she has the opposable thumbs to clean up this tragic mess.

amount of cotton batting out of stuffed toy : size of intact stuffed toy = 3:1. maybe even 4:1. it's like those chinese noodles that expand upon hitting the hot skillet. this is truly a mystery to me, as i have generally founds physics to be boring and therefore do not pretend to understand the quirky properties of cotton batting.

i guess i could clean it up. but i think i'd be even more bored.

chronic underemployment is boring. bitching about being laid off is boring, even though my story has some spice involving sex and a balding yuppie with a napoleon complex. (i didn't have sex with aforementioned balding yuppie. these are two separate yet intertwined facets of said spice.) eh, whatever. that story has grown tiresome. if i'd even had stock options or had made some money the story might be less tiresome, but i was less flighty and shallow than some of my mercenary brethren.com. (i am dumb.) i thought my company was full of cool people, which was more important than my bank account, dammit, because i'm not quite 30 yet and everybody knows that if you're in your 20's and you're not carrying at least a 4-digit balance on your credit card, you're not living enough.
or you haven't gotten your trust fund yet.
this city has lots of people with trust funds. maybe i should be nicer to them.

sometimes i think that boredom is like sperm. it's a cumulative buildup due to which, should there be no release, you suddenly find yourself craving some action, absolutely unable to concentrate and depressed and and emotional yet full of malaise and obsessed with finding said action, at the same time increasingly worried that there will be no release, that you'll eventually just drown or explode from this overflow of malaise (not sperm, remember, this is a simile - otherwise that image would be kind of gross), that you absolutely don't even know if you can go on another day without release, or maybe you should just stay asleep for as long as you can to avoid thinking about it.
but maybe boys just exaggerate this sperm buildup thing in order to woo us female types into feeling sorry for them.
note to self, gents: the "blue balls" excuse/plea/line really doesn't work after high school.

i guess i could search the internet for apartment listings. kind of fun to watch prices drop. except i just moved. what if i see a place that's a better deal than mine? then i'll be depressed. but it's more heartening than searching the job listings, though, which are about as exciting and plentiful as david hasselhoff's musical stylings. (not that i'm complaining of this paucity - david, less is more.)

my dog is throwing a stuffed tigger around the room and rolling all over the floor. maybe i should try this. she doesn't look bored anymore.

no, better to save my energies for the all-important job hunt. god forbid, it may be time to go back to temping. can you make a career of boredom? temping would seem to embody a big fat "yes" on that account. on the plus side, temps are expected to be bored. their whole existence centers around a fleeting apperance to tackle the jobs so boring that salaried employees simply refuse to do them. so, then, i would at least be paid to sit on the computer all day, dissolutely surfing job postings and IMing my gainfully employed friends about my general malaise, my sorry 9th month of unemployment (i know, i know - pathetic), the irony of the ever-infuriating "over-qualified but under-experienced" line that i've been given since i graduated. i don't even know what this means. i once had a lady tell me i was too smart to take the menial position for which i was applying; does she think this made me feel better? it made me want to punch her in the nose.
that would have been exciting.
i think i'd be bored in jail, though.

maybe i should start drinking every day at noon. would i feel more or less bored if i was lubed every day? i dunno. but rehab would be pretty boring, i think.

the dog's asleep again.
i think i'll take a nap.

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