This is me incoherent and in love with nineteenth century vocabulary...

I'm just tired.

Tired of the same academic hoops I've been jumping through for the past six years. Tired of weekends that consist of studying and really, really long Sundays at church functions. Tired of everyone else leaving town, and me still being here. Tired of bills, dishes, but still feeling like I'm in seventh grade. Tired of well-meaning people telling me I need to get married, and then other well-meaning people telling me that I'll never get married. Tired of being sick half of the week.

Tired of having nothing legitimate at all to be tired of.

Tired of my own selfish griping in the midst of comforts, and family, and love.

Allow a moment to decry the deterioration of the English language: The word "tired" does absolutely nothing to help you grasp the emotion that I am (for whatever reason) attempting to convey. We have, in our cheap education, literacy-starved culture, completely killed vocabulary. As a result, I have to grapple with phrase after phrase, trying to convey with only the word "tired" what I'm really, truly feeling.

But there's a better word.

And I'm going to use it, despite the fact that the use of such words usually allow me to be labeled as a "nerd," "geek," "bookworm," loser," and/or "pandering over-achiever." I don't care. If the word was in more common circulation, it would have allowed for a simple, one-lined blog post such as:


I'm suffering from ennui*.


And I think the cure is to go shopping.





*en·nui (ŏn-wē', ŏn'wē)
–noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom.