I get paid a pretty decent salary to be bored out of my mind.
I've tried alleviating it.
I've taken in novels - which I then tear through at roughly a hundred pages per hour.
I've taken in my laptop - which becomes a pain in the ass to work on when I forget the battery charger and it runs out of power.
I've taken in a horde of roleplaying books and magazines in hopes I could get my own D&D (or other roleplaying system) game started.
I've downloaded a dozen game demos (most of which I've removed).
I've tried creating. Screenshot art, manipulations for signatures, writing poems or stories.
As I described to ~A(m)~ (no relation to female ~A~ or ~A2~) and haf, when I walk into the building, it's like my creative juices walk out.
It's rather frustrating.
On one hand, I'm glad to have a job.
On the other, I'm doing less in work than I was doing when I was home for ten months, helping with my dad, the family, the housework. I've also maintained my weight, even with a nightly walking regimen and a marked decrease in food consumption.
Although, with ~M~'s assistance, I re-realized that I'm a stress eater.
I hope she's doing okay...
I'm sitting here surveying the decent job I've done of cleaning between my bed, closet, and desk. I have twenty four books which I could read...
I have eight stories that I could finish or otherwise work on...
Fourteen PC RPGs which I could play...
I want to clean. Except when my brother gets home, and goes to bed, he bitches if I so much as sneeze or turn on the light if I drop something.
At least he's had his PC off for a few days, since the horrible grinding sounds its making are getting worse. I'd told him I'm not fixing it if it dies, and if he wants a new one, he needs to give me a payment - at least partial - on parts before I start looking, let alone ordering.
Last thing I want to say tonight is, I hope everything works out, ~L~.