Dante's Third Ring of Ennui

If Dante had written about ennui instead of hell, I could pinpoint my exact location — the ring on which I reside. That is, if I could be bothered.

Ever have one of those days where you just can’t get with it — a day when you can’t wake up enough to successfully engage in even the smallest aspect of your job. A day when you’re so befuddled that the very concept of an evening meal confuses, never mind actually having to cook it? (yeah, I know, this is why God created take out) How about a day where you can’t write even a simple email — work or personal? A day where writing a Facebook status post feels akin to composing Beowulf and then being expected to understand it. Have you had a day where the grocery store, a place which normally excites me like a kid in chocolate shop or a geek at a Comicon, is an overwhelming Rubik’s Cube of choices?

Nope, this isn’t due to any cosmically significant, transformative, killer asteroid type event. I think I’ve come down with a nasty case of ennui....or a cold. One or the other. Must be a cold since, I’m pretty sure, when you come down with ennui you get an accompanying outrageously huge desire to smoke Gauloises while discussing Sartre and Camus.

Maybe. I forget.

Perhaps a nap will help.