'I'm trying to sort out my nomenclature; I'm determined to determine from what it is I suffer. I thought it was boredom, but it may be from torpor. I'm currently skimming the literature.
'I read Bertrand Russell in a fit of idleness; an excellent essay free from any kind of dullness. To appreciate it required that I lie in repose. (My preferred position when it comes to good prose.)
'I tackled Adam Phillips from the psychiatrist's chair, where the unconscious and subconscious were gradually laid bare. I learned a Ms Spacks links the novel to tedium; a pertinent discovery for one who loves the medium.
'Carol Mavor's Reading Boyishly is a damned good book. I flicked through the index and then took a look at the pages that referred to boredom and labor [sic]. The stuff, apparently, that made Proust and Ackerman tick.
'It was in a state of ennui that I yielded and gave in to the knowledge that my accidie was, in fact, a cardinal sin. I renounced the modern, espoused Medieval scholarship. Believe me, it's hard to beat self-flaggelation with a horse-whip.
'But, my lassitude's flagging; I'm beginning to get lazy. My aversion to working is driving me crazy. My apathy is starting to make me feel weary. If I don't engage soon, life might begin to get dreary.'
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