I Don't Feel Well

I'm hung-over and sleep deprived. 

   

Additionally, I have no sense of what I had ought to be doing at the moment. This is probably because there isn't anything I had ought to be doing. 

  

There are things I could do:  

— find a job 

— take a shower

— paint something pretty/enigmatic

— push-ups

— read some books

— run around the neighborhood

... and things I want to do:

— master an assortment of highly specialized skills so that after tracking down everyone who's ever rejected me, I might publicly show them up in some meaningful way by utilizing one of the previously mastered, person-specific skills, each to be determined by the reasoning which lead to the aforementioned rejection (so that, were I deemed too sensitive, too lacking in virility, or not clever enough, I would, by sheer force of will, transform myself into the sort of person who can recite Proust in Russian, lift an absurd number of pianos above my head, and is impervious to bullets).

— get over my fixation on justifying my existence to women who displayed an explicit lack of interest in me and cultivate a fixation on justifying my existence to Zooey and or Emily Deschanel

— go swimming... on a Caribbean island, where everyone speaks French (for some reason) and thinks I'm fun to be around

— build a robot assistant, what to assist me in my endeavors

  

... and, I suppose, there are things I'm more or less capable of doing:

— stretching.

   

More to come, but for now, I'm deciding not to waste the day further detailing how I intend to waste my day.