x

Some days I am charged with an idea. Other days,

There’s nothing there, that is, the mind’s so filled with self

There’s room for little else. I need to walk away,

Free the mind of me. Trouble is, at the same time,

I don’t want to do anything. Not in the mood

x

For a walk. Not in the mood for a wank. Not in the mood

To go shopping.  Not in the mood to pick up the phone

Since I’ve got nothing to say. I’m just thinking about

Me all the time, about how sick of it all I am, how everyone

Seems sick of me. How sick I am of being me.

x

It’s not a good state to be in. It’s got a French name.

Philosophers are partial to it, seek to provide us

With remedies which only help when the sufferer

Wants to be cured. I’m not in the mood to be.

My grandmother would tease me. It’s because you’re bored,

x

And she was right. It’s not just a grown up disease.

Children succumb to it easily. Because there are some days

When you just want to loaf around, perfectly sure

That there is nothing to do, and it’s true.

There really is nothing to do. The mind’s so full of you.

x

x

Sickert – a preparatory sketch for Ennui