Bored, bored, bored

A friend of mine who reads my blog (my only non-Internet friend who routinely reads it) was a bit confused by my last post, which is probably because I was not clear about the origin of the poem that I trashed. I think that's understandable, because nobody in his right mind would actually take something he created himself and criticize it so sardnonically, right? Well, sometimes I like to mock myself in order to ensure that I'm not taking myself too seriously. It works for me; I find it difficult to remain in a melancholic mood for any length of time if I consider myself a buffoon who worries himself to death over trifles.

Anyhow, I spent today (well, yesterday, at this point) expressing how completely burned out I've become on my steady diet of medical school this and medical school that. I tried to read a few pages in American Pastoral by Philip Roth, but then I got bored and stopped. So, I moved on to Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence, but then I got REALLY bored and stopped. Next I tried to do some writing, but about two hours and forty words of composition later, I realized that it just was not going to happen today. So, I acquiesced to my urges and drove off to the casinos, where over the course of four hours I succeeded in losing $100 playing limit Hold 'Em. It's no big deal, though -- I just won't eat for a week or so, and I'll make up for that lost money, no sweat. Eating is overrated anyhow.

So is sleeping, by the way.