Ever get the feeling that every song has already been sung? every story already written, every picture already drawn; painted; or taken?
That we are just endlessly acting out the same sad despicable little soap operas, making the same promises and mistakes; thinking, feeling and saying the same thoughts, feelings, and words as have been thought, felt, and said over and over by everyone else who has ever lived down through the annals of time?
That there is nothing new, original, unpredicatable, or interesting left on this planet to make the constant soul wearing grind of existence worth partaking in?
If so then you might be suffering from ennui.
This is a page about it, can’t say I learned anything new* from it however, or found any real joy or excitement in reading it.
* Well actually, except for the bit about Bleak House, didn’t know that.