I feel...something. What do I feel? How do I feel? How do I name this feeling?

This feeling to do something with myself. This feeling to look at something, taste something, smell something. To do anything other than stare at the small hole in the wall.

This feeling, I don't want it. I don't want this feeling. I don't want to feel this way. Why do I feel this way? How do I stop feeling this way?

This feeling of not being motivated to even move, yet motivated enough to do something.

This feeling of loneliness, yet not loneliness. This feeling of tiredness, yet being awake. This feeling, this feeling, the emotion I'm feeling I can't name.

Am I feeling unaccomplished? Depressed? Melancholy?

I decided to stick my finger in the hole one day. I assume it's a day, but my passage of time has long since been severed. The hole widens, as I feel the soft, yet hard texture inside the wall. I stick another finger inside, and another, and then another.

Soon, I've stuck my whole hand inside. This should be an accomplishment, yet I still don't feel accomplished. I still feel this feeling. This feeling that I can't, nor do I know, how to name.

I feel it, a piece of paper, different from the hard marble of the floor and the soft feeling of the fabric on my skin. It feels, rough. Yes, rough would be a good way to put it.

I gently pull it out, and on the paper it says...

You have wasted your time, feeling this absolute boredom.

I let go of the paper and my eyes close for the first time in years.