Ennui: A Day In The Life Of Matt

12:30 p.m. I get out of bed.

12:41p.m. Parched. Throat terribly dry, so…I have a beer. I think this is an okay breakfast since both beer and bread contain yeast. It’s like liquid toast.

1:38 p.m. The day has only just begun and already I feel strangled by it’s oppressive tedium. I pretend that my closet door is a dart board and throw butter knives at it.

3:30p.m. Finally, a reprieve from the boredom: Judge Judy is on. She is yelling at some asshole.

4:01p.m. Now Judge Joe Brown is on. It’s a repeat that I have seen 8 times already. I decide that as long as I’m not in the double digits its okay to watch again. I sort of have a man-crush on Jude Joe. It’s not a gay thing…I just think that if we had gone to high school together and someone had disrespected me, Joe would’ve gotten my back. I wouldn’t even have to ask him for help, there would just be this silent thing going on between us. Also, I wonder what his penis would feel like inside of me.

5:00p.m. Haven’t seen a pizza delivery guy in almost 24 hours. Hungry. So hungry. I’ve spent most of the day so far foraging through the kitchen and I am now down to my last twinkie (before I have to open a new box). What kind of god allows such suffering?

5:15p.m. Once, when I was a child, my grandfather took me aside and, with a benevolent smile upon his weathered face, began to speak in a wavering yet determined voice. He said, “Them ferrets eat coupons.” My grandfather was a profoundly stupid man. He may have been right on that one occasion, though, because I can’t find a pizza coupon anywhere.

5:31p.m. Ravenous and trembling with an awful hunger, I use the last of my strength to call Woo’s House of Crunch (home of the renowned Super-Crispy Eggroll). To pass the time until the food arrives, I eat a can of garbonzo beans.

6:08p.m More beer. Yummy, precious beer. Using the coffee table, I play ping-pong against the wall. I totally win.

6:30p.m. I seriously consider checking the mail. I raise the blinds…the sun is still up. I watch Saved by the Bell instead. It’s from that crappy season where they all work at the beach.

7:08p.m. I fart and startle the cat.

7:52p.m. The boredom…it’s growing unbearable again. Need distraction. I forgot to write in my dream journal earlier so I do that now. I think dreams are a richly textured dialogue between the mind and the soul. It’s a discussion from which we can learn a great deal about ourselves, if only we’ll heed the ancient codes of human experience. In the previous night’s dream, I had dressed up in a giant toe costume and had sex with Jude Joe Brown. But it wasn’t a gay thing.

8:37p.m. I put a black marker up each nostril and inhale like a vacuum. I end up regretting it because now I'm bored and the magic seahorse won’t leave me alone.

9:18p.m. God help me, I need something to do. Sure, I have a television, an Xbox, but these options are like leaves in a storm, just battered phantoms that can’t possible prevail against the winds of my boredom. I try slapping my pot-belly for awhile and yelling things like, “Hoo-haw! I’m the king, bitches!” I’m not completely sure why I do this.

9:59p.m. I am opening beer number seven…but I’m shooting coquettish glances at beer number eight. It knows. It knows who I really love. I watch a Family Guy that I’ve only seen 4 times.

10: 31p.m. Hey, Mexican radio. I turn it up, do some erotic wiggle-dancing in the living room. I make up my own lyrics and sing to the music. I start dry-humping the lamp. Wait a minute, wait. This is wrong. Conan comes on so I watch that. When it ends, I stare at the wall.

12:00a.m. I’ve only been up half a day, but I’m tired. Fuck it. I go to bed.

Lost in this pre-Apocalyptic wasteland, my days are spent restlessly fighting off a mad impulse to accomplish something. In this unending strife I find that I am much like Sisyphus. I, however, move only downhill…and there is no rock.