The perils of boredom

I'm bored.

It's not for lack of stuff to do. I work at the bookstore five days a week. I write twice weekly for a movie site. I go to the gym as often as I can. But I'm not happy.

This isn't what I want to be doing. I wake up in the morning, and head to my computer, addicted to the impersonal messages I get from across the world. I shower, feed the cats, watch some television, and then I'm out the door. My mornings are wasted time, lost energy. I can't force myself out of bed to run as I'm up too late the night before, watching television, rotting my brain in time with the flickered images.

I eat when this boredom hits. All of my hours sweating on the treadmill or in the pipes and rubber of a weight machine are negated with a few spoonfuls of pasta. I have trouble finding even the energy to put on a video game, the non-involvement of TV-watching more attractive than laying forth any effort at all.

I know that this is textbook depression.

The funny thing is that I don't feel depressed. I just feel lost. I need something, and looking around I can almost figure out what it is.

Is it the martial arts that I miss so much? Is it the friends I used to have that ignore me or have disappeared? Is it a teacher for meditation or Buddhist thought? Is it a weekly game of chess?

I'm not sure. I just know these are the things that are going through my head at the moment, and I need to figure it out.

I did start a good story at our writing group last night and maybe I'll post the beginning (middle, in reality) here later.