The Experiment

R and I took a long walk last night and as has become habit of late, ended up discussing my recent affair with apathy. So I did my whole dramatic speech about not just not wanting to do anything, but also not liking anything and how I just very simply don't care about anything anymore. But then he said something that really should have made me mad under the circumstances. He said 'I don't believe you'. What he meant of course is that he doesn't believe that I don't care about anything. And you know what? He's right not to believe me. Because this phase of retro-adolescent angst I am experiencing right now is, I think, another experiment in being alive. While I totally hate this sensation profound boredom, I recognize that it's interesting. And maybe, just maybe, the rantings and dramatic ravings I put my poor eternally patient r through almost every night are further probes into this strange hypothesis. When I sit here writing these posts, I know it can't be as totally hopeless as I have billed it - if it were, I wouldn't be here trying to attract other bored strangers with the details of my life. I am sorry for behaving so miserably. And as you always remind me and I always choose to ignore, things aren't as bad as they may seem.