I was beginning to realise that I had lost control – what little of it I had had in the first place, that is. No – that I had never had control. Boredom had left me behind, I had succumbed to its weight, its unheard-of centre within me. I had embraced it and it had completely consumed me and now I was bored of it. I was bored of boredom. There was nothing I could really do about this. I was like everyone else: I needed something to fill the gap, the time that dragged us, and it, along with it, to return me to the ground beneath my feet and hide away from our gaping hole like everyone else.
— Lee Rourke, The Canal
Notes from a Room 