It's school-holiday, sunny day but too cold to play outside, relentless, suffocating boredom. There's a quote...somewhere...by...someone...that says that boredom is the best gift bestowed to man because it's the only device that makes us live longer. Time is unquestionably slow when we are bored. My clean clothes are put away, my desk is (somewhat) tidy, my bed is made, my RSS feeds are read, I have eaten, I have dusted, I have wiped over. The things I should be doing just fill me with an inexplicable sense of death. I wonder why this happens? And why the only way out of the pit is to stick a fork in your eye, and make yourself work on something?