Today I have ennui. You know, that general feeling of dissatisfaction… nothing to do, nothing to be excited about. I look outside and it’s bright and warm and fresh and I know if I just sat in the sun for a while I would feel better. Instead I pull the blinds and watch a b-grade movie on network TV (so I have to endure commercials).
Tom and I used to joke about having ennui, a reference to Edward Gorey’s Gashlycrumb Tinies. “N is for Neville who dies of ennui.” Just laughing together about it erased some of the melancholy. Tom refused to dwell in dissatisfaction. He would get outside, call some friends, cook a fabulous meal, plan an adventure. I prefer to lean into my ennui. I think about it. Dissect it. Accept or challenge it, depending. But it doesn’t often last more than a few hours.
Aside from losing Tom, my life is pretty good. But when ennui does sneaks up on me, in a strange way, it makes me feel close to Tom.