Godlessness, Boredom & Netflix

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It dawned on me recently that God isn’t real.  Also that I’m really bored.  I was hoping the boredom thing would be solved by God’s “plan” for my life, but now that I know there is no God, I’m a bit worried.  If I wasn’t so bored, I might even be scared.

If you really want to know what’s wrong with my life, it’s that I don’t have enough stuff.  My wardrobe is slim and lacking in anything fashionable or trendy.  I know trends are for suckers, but at least suckers sometimes get laid.  You know who isn’t getting laid?  This guy right here, typing these sentences on his parents’ Compaq computer.

Goddamnit!  Why don’t I have any stuff?  I guess it’s because I did a lot of drugs and went through this whole sell-what-you-can-and-throw-the-rest-of-that-shit-away phase back during my twenties.  It was fun, but also depressing and terribly lonely.  I lost a lot of friends and racked up a lot of debt.  Debt!  So much debt and nothing to show for it!

I don’t have a car.  I don’t have a house.  Or an apartment.  I live in a converted shed, and it doesn’t even belong to me.  My parents bought it for my sisters and turned it into a playhouse.  Now it’s where I sleep and masturbate and cry because I don’t have any stuff.

OK, that’s not completely true.  I do have some stuff.  A modest library composed mostly of used books that I bought on the cheap at various thrift shops.  A few pairs of shorts that I made by cutting the legs off all my skinny jeans, a small stack of CDs, three DVDs (The Little Mermaid, Groundhog Day and Eagle Vs Shark), and a litter box.  The litter box doesn’t really count, though, does it?  It belongs to my cat.

Is it any wonder that I’m not getting laid?  Hardly any stuff to my name, plus I own a cat.

Wait, what was I talking about?  I had a point when I started.  Let me go back to the beginning and see where I was going with all this.
Right.  God isn’t real and I’m really bored.  No God means no “plan” for my life, not even a “plan” for the boredom.  Unless I come up with a plan of my own.  Which is sort of what I’ve been doing lately.  I guess.

Mostly what I do these days is watch Netflix.  I just finished season three of Wilfred and I’m five episodes in on season one of Mad Men.  I know I’m a bit behind, but I don’t own a TV, and my parents got rid of cable, so that leaves Netflix, which I watch via Wi-Fi on an HTC Android.  But Netflix is definitely a lifesaver.  If you’re bored and not getting laid, I totally recommend it as a valid form of escape.

When I’m not watching Netflix, I like to read books.  I buy them used at Goodwill, The Salvation Army, the public library, and every once in a while at a yard sale.  I recently finished reading The Lazy Man’s Guide to Enlightenment and have just now started Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion.  I’m pretty sure it’s only coincidence that I started reading this book, which I snagged for a dollar at a local used book sale, around the same time I realized there is no God.  I guess life’s just funny like that.

Look, I don’t know about you, but this is boring the shit out of me.  What I’m writing, I mean.  What’s the point?  Come to think of it, what’s the point of anything?  Nothing matters.  Especially if you don’t have any stuff.  Or if you only have a little bit of stuff.  Maybe I should get a second job, start making more money, buy some more stuff.  I should definitely stop thinking about the non-existence of God (although I’m still going to finish the Dawkins book) and, consequently, the absence of any “plan” for my life.

Or maybe I should come up with a plan of my own.  Maybe getting a second job—or just an altogether better job than the one I have—should be a part of that plan.  That way I can buy more stuff.  Plus, if I make more money and buy more stuff, I’ll definitely get laid.  Right?

I don’t know.  Just thinking about all of it is boring the shit out of me.  I think I’ll go watch some Netflix.