Eggs and Existentialism.

I have eaten far too much food today. Like 8 slices of bread, dinner, 5 cans of pepsi max and then, being the clever little badger that I am, an egg sandwich. I now thoroughly believe I am going to be sick. Again. Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome can fuck itself, truthfully.

I feel strange. Not unhappy as such, but I couldn't call myself happy either. Truth is I feel a bit redundant. Like there's no point. Like 'Boredom the Sequel; Life is Futile'. It feels like boredom but when trying to entertain myself I feel like none of it has a point. I picked up my PSP, and every game felt old; I tried watching the television but all I could see were reruns, and what was the point in that?; I picked up my drumsticks, and felt there was no need. I'm not excited about anything.

So I made a sandwich and that was fun but then I got bored again. Like I said I'm not complaining as such, it's just a strange sensation. Then again I've always had a short attention span. If I'm not experiencing something brand new for the first time then chances are I'm not enjoying myself. Music still serves to inspire a modicum of passion yet I fear that, like an aging gentleman's genitalia, my capacity for stimulation is running out.

On a plus side, that fat little Year 10 kid that runs around calling people a wanker finally called Alun one, like I had hoped. Alun shoved him up against a wall, called him many names, and aforementioned fat child ran back to his classroom. I laughed heartily and we left, satisfied.