I'm off politics, at least for this weekend. I'm not reading the news, I'm not reading what other people are saying about the news, and I'm so bored with it all I can't imagine caring again.

I'm bored of fandom, not that I'm "in" fandom, but I'm bored of passion I don't share.

I'm bored of eating. I had a ridiculously stupid breakfast of tortilla chips and cheese and more food sounds far too tedious to contemplate.

Laundry awaits...but I'm bored of laundry. When is there not laundry that needs doing? Ditto the bathroom. Which needs cleaned. When does it not?

Piles of papers await sorting, mending awaits doing, shoes await polishing. Bah.

I've read all the new books I bought last weekend and I'm bored of the thousand or howeveremany others there are on the shelves.

It's a lovely, sunny day, but I can't think of a single thing I'd really enjoy doing if I went out into it.

I spent an hour drowning myself in quotes from The West Wing (and, not incidentally, noticing how many of them came from the Sorkin era). So long that my wistful desire to reimburse myself in that universe was sated, glutted, without opening a single DVD case.

The shelves are full of DVDs. Movies and television shows, none of which interest me at the moment.

My room is full of projects. Writing, drawing, painting, organizing projects.

Yawn.

Is it an excess of possibilities? Too many choices, so that I'm stymied to let my heart settle on just one? Or am I really so barren, so devoid of ambition that I only keep these things available to me as temptations to distract me from productive work Monday through Friday?