not much ado about nothing

This morning I woke up (too) early due to street sweeping from a poignant dream, which is to say that I rarely remember my dreams at all. I dreamt I was riding in a car with my dad - to an unknownst or unclear destination - with spotty conversation - listening to Barry White and Christmas Classics cassette tapes because it was all we had. We were going to stop at a Piggley Wiggley or a such and such supermarket, but that's when my alarm attacked the settled white noise blanketing my ear drums and ripped away my pleasant nothingness with uneducated urgency, the way a child tugs at his mother's blouse, screaming and crying, just to show her a bug he found.

Stupid, loud alarm, pulling me away from nowhere.

Then again, even in day I'm going nowhere slowly, sans enthusiasm or intention. My workless days drag on and stretch out as if time was molassus taffy and I'm a fly stuck to it all. I wake up early, kill the buzzing machine and go back to sleep til 10 or 11. From then til 2 I sloutch at the attention of my computer, reloading and refreshing Facebook to ensure I am as in touch with the people I never talk to as I possibly can be; and then after 2 or 3 games of Freecell, I begin to beg my online friends (who are diligently pretending to work) for suggestions on how to waste my day with valour - at their tips, I shrug and "meh" and deny ability. Proceeding all this, I might go for a brief walk and accomplish one errand on an unending to-do list; read a few pages of a book; take a nap; desire a workout that my aching back would prohibit; refresh Facebook.

I've seen so much empty time in the last week that my introversion has morphed into an unbound social monster that attacks anyone with a screenname minus away message. I don't know enough people in this city without jobs, so in concoction with the coast's gray and depressing weather, I have no reason to do anything but sit and prune from my insides out.

I revamped my bathroom though- tried to paint out the boredom in my fingertips with white wash and two coats of Kittery Blue- yet the craftiness escaped with ease, and now even my dreams are transparent and dull as though my subconscience has nothing left to leave to mystery.



Nothingness, as defined by Dictionary.com, means:

4. unconsciousness or death

According to the ever-faithful wordnet, it's described as:

1.	the state of nonexistence
2.	empty rhetoric or insincere or exaggerated talk; "that's a lot of wind"; "don't give me any of that jazz" [syn: wind]

Sounds about right. But wait! WIND is a synonym? to death? to void and emptiness and senseless blog-blabber? Now that's somethin'!

...Because today, my boring-lazy-nothingness-day, I sat at the fat, gray ocean and listened to the waves, and soaked up the cool wind through a loose knit sweater that matched the sand. I was ipod-less, bookless and phoneless, and for that brief, escapable stretched out time, I became an ocean of alive.

So I thank GOD for my boredom and for going nowhere fast, even in slumber.