Hey 3.5 readers. BQB here.
I am filled with ennui.
What is ennui? You might think it’s sadness. You probably think that because the public education system failed you, but that’s another post for another time. If you’re spending any amount of time reading this blog, I already assumed you suffered some kind of failure in life and that’s ok, join the club, of which I am a ranking member.
Ennui is dissatisfaction. Just utter blah-ness, a feeling of purpose-less-ness. I would dare say it’s worse than sadness because if you’re crying, you care enough to feel emotion, albeit a negative one.
On the other hand, ennui is just like, “Meh. I can’t even be bothered to feel any emotion about anything at all because, why bother? Everything is out of our control.”
Seriously. I’m like the protagonist of a French film. Give me a perpetually smoky cigarette, slap a beret on my head, a white and black striped shirt on my body and then I’ll just sit there in a listless manner while I munch a baguette and think about pondering the meaning of life but that would be too hard.
It’s existing but not being or doing. It’s not caring but not out of a decision to not care but rather, due to an inability to not care. That inability could come to many in a variety of ways but for me, it has come from trying to play the game so many times and failing that I am physically incapable of attempting another try at the game so I’ll just sit here in the existential café and smoke and speak in a French accent and say things like, “Sacre bleu, I am riddle with ennui, mon ami.”
Has anyone out there ever suffered ennui? Did you cure it? Is ennui curable? Well, if you care enough to respond, you probably don’t have ennui then. Congratulations.
Bookshelf Battle 