We're All Going On A Summer Holiday

My life is like an episode of Reggie Perrin, minus the humour. These past nine weeks of perpetual, suffocating boredom, the one definitive event being falling out of bed one night, which never happened…I told people it did to highlight the dullness of the situation. Surely that is a whole new plateau of non entity, inventing demure events to mask the absolute desert of activity that is your existence. I find myself entering into a new genre of music each day, downloading all the frontline artists of that sector…the next big thing for the next big 24 hours. The situation is much the same with television, I don’t venture downstairs to watch TV, not now the channels prostitute their archives online. Problem is, I can watch three seasons of black books in one day, so I'm constantly finding new lows of audio visual un-entertainment to sink to. I have also developed a sandwich fetish, but that trend dies quickly too…I ate all the bread and possible fillings. And I was re united with my fruit pastilles ice lollies and chips which I have come to hold so dear, as my staple diet over these months. I can lie in bed at night for hours, with no interest in anything, just a frustration that’s been made redundant by my laziness. I decided to cover my walls with glue in an attempt to change the night-time routine. I thought perhaps turning my room into a solvent fumed cave might either knock me out into a catatonic, welcoming slumber, or be greeted by some tripped up dreams. Instead I got a headache right at the back of my skull, where your mind joins your body. Sometimes ill smack myself in the face or hit a limb against a wall or suchlike, just to tempt a reaction. I feel like I'm stuck on the set of a nineties sitcom, everything so familiar and functionless without the talent. The confusing element of this mess is that I am not at a loss for things to do. I have stacks of work of all kinds to do. Whether it be some light exercise, or writing an essay on Plath, nothing works. I cannot seem to force myself to do anything constructive. I haven’t left the house in three days, and before that five. I started to read a book, but it’s in a plastic bag on my bedpost under some towels and a jacket, so now I can’t be bothered to unearth it. It’s a wonderful book though, but I suppose it’s due back at the library, never mind, maybe next year. Everything i’ve worn for the last week can be found in my bed. We are one. I went through a phase of showering everyday at four o clock, just to occupy an hour. But then I ran out of conditioner so I haven’t showered in a week. A lovely little prophetic event of the early days of this ordeal was when my facebook chat buddies list stated that there were ZERO people online. I didn’t pick it up at the time, but this was the blueprint for the coming weeks. I cannot honestly remember the last time I brushed my teeth properly. I’ve managed to convince myself to loathe one of my closest friends, I was treating myself as if I were an outside element, a social experiment within myself. Can you have a social experiment with no society? I feel as if it is time for me to be black bin bagged up for the charity shop. I’ve been gathering dust. When people go offline on msn, I’ve taken to leaving them long woeful descriptions of how completely unaffected I am by their decisions to go and do something with their lives, in the real world. I think the effort is wasted however, because it requires interest to prove my uninterest. I knash my teeth just to get a feel of the extent of the numbness, like I'm hi. I watch shrink rap now….in a desperate attempt to remember the struggles of humanity versus the world. I’ve forgotten how to connect with people. Like a self-imposed Guantanamo.