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Description: Riley Andersen, a young woman surrounded by chaos, stands in the midst of a room filled with energetic children. Two adorable siblings, Jennifer and Rodney, cling to her legs, while Riley attempts to corral them with a weary smile. Despite the exhaustion in her eyes, there is a hint of routine and purpose amidst the commotion. The image captures the contrast between the lively children and Riley's internal struggle with ennui, reminding her of life's dull moments lurking just beyond
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### Journal Entry: Ennui the Sentient Emotion

**Date: October 15, 2024**

Ummmm...... where do I begin?

Living inside Riley Andersen's mind has never been what you’d call a picnic, but things really took a turn when Jennifer and Rodney were born. I mean, Riley’s been dealt a pretty lousy hand ever since moving back to Minnesota after the whole San Francisco debacle. Don’t even get me started on Val, that emotionless drone and wannabe ice queen who turned Riley into a mini-me with disastrous results. Everything felt utterly pointless then, but that’s another tale for another entry.

So, Jennifer enters the scene first on December 11, 2020, just when Riley’s feeble attempts to find meaning in San Francisco through the Fire Hawks had burnt out, thanks to COVID and all that jazz. A tiny bundle of curiosity and chaos. God, how do babies manage to be so loud yet profoundly uninteresting? Even if that wasn't enough, Rodney followed a year later. December 1, 2021—bam, another little ball of unpredictability and distraction.

Look, I’m an expert in the art of doing nothing, but these kids? They bring an energy that’s frankly exhausting to even think about. If I could feel tired, they'd do the trick. Riley now spends a significant chunk of her time trying to corral them, teach them, and keep them entertained. In a way, it’s like she’s trying to mold them into something familiar to her—into little hockey enthusiasts, no less. Not that it stirs me, but I guess that makes sense given her own tumultuous relationship with the sport.

It’s almost ironic, really. Jennifer and Rodney keep Riley busy, but somehow, amidst the chaos, they create this faint hum of routine, a rhythm—a distraction, but a lifesaver, too. Now, instead of orbiting around endless voids of nothingness, she’s got these giggling miniature humans to focus on. Almost makes you think there's a point in all this ruckus. Almost.

Riley’s still lost in many ways, aimlessly skating around for the Golden Gophers at the University of Minneapolis. She works sporadic, and random jobs - coaching kids who can barely stand on the ice and explaining why figure skates and hockey skates aren't the same thing. I mean, I'm Ennui; I know pointlessness when I see it. Or, I should—being defined by a lack of direction is tripping.

She’s surprisingly good with her siblings, though. Like, she’s on autopilot when she’s around them, an almost instinctive care. It’s weird, watching her teach Jennifer how to hold a hockey stick or showing Rodney how to glide on ice without crashing into everything. Jill, her mother, is always blathering about how thankful she is for Riley’s innate caregiving instincts. I suppose. Makes sense, given she barely knew what to do with herself for a while.

Riley’s hospital stint at that truck stop near Minneapolis still haunts, I think. Not so much in an upfront, attention-seeking trauma way, but like a shadow that’s always there—out of sight, lurking. Those weeks alone must’ve done a number on her. See, I was there. I felt the depth of her isolation, and for those endless days, she was immersed in a sea of nothingness. That’s where I thrive, where I’m at home. But even I have to admit, it was too much.

But hey, she’s managing somehow. There’s still that vacancy in her eyes sometimes, and that’s where I mostly come in—just to remind her to not get too comfortable. Life isn’t all about baby giggles and hockey pucks, you know? There’s dullness in between, an intricate web of monotony that holds everything together, like an unsung glue.

Ennui, out.

P.S. Looking forward to the next dull moment, and trust me, they’re never far off.

This story was generated by user ed with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: (Continue from this: ### Journal Entry: Ennui the Sentient Emotion **Date: October 15, 2024** Ummmm...... where do I begin? Living inside Riley Andersen's mind has never been what you’d call a picnic, but things really took a turn when Jennifer and Rodney were born. I mean, Riley’s been dealt a pretty lousy hand ever since moving back to Minnesota after the whole San Francisco debacle. Don’t even get me started on Val, that emotionless drone and wannabe ice queen who turned Riley into a mini-me with disastrous results. Everything felt utterly pointless then, but that’s another tale for another entry. So, Jennifer enters the scene first on December 11, 2020, just when Riley’s feeble attempts to find meaning in San Francisco through the Fire Hawks had burnt out, thanks to COVID and all that jazz. A tiny bundle of curiosity and chaos. God, how do babies manage to be so loud yet profoundly uninteresting? Even if that wasn't enough, Rodney followed a year later. December 1, 2021—bam, another little ball of unpredictability and distraction. Look, I’m an expert in the art of doing nothing, but these kids? They bring an energy that’s frankly exhausting to even think about. If I could feel tired, they'd do the trick. Riley now spends a significant chunk of her time trying to corral them, teach them, and keep them entertained. In a way, it’s like she’s trying to mold them into something familiar to her—into little hockey enthusiasts, no less. Not that it stirs me, but I guess that makes sense given her own tumultuous relationship with the sport. It’s almost ironic, really. Jennifer and Rodney keep Riley busy, but somehow, amidst the chaos, they create this faint hum of routine, a rhythm—a distraction, but a lifesaver, too. Now, instead of orbiting around endless voids of nothingness, she’s got these giggling miniature humans to focus on. Almost makes you think there's a point in all this ruckus. Almost. Riley’s still lost in many ways, aimlessly skating around for the Golden Gophers at the University of Minneapolis. She works sporadic, and random jobs - coaching kids who can barely stand on the ice and explaining why figure skates and hockey skates aren't the same thing. I mean, I'm Ennui; I know pointlessness when I see it. Or, I should—being defined by a lack of direction is tripping. She’s surprisingly good with her siblings, though. Like, she’s on autopilot when she’s around them, an almost instinctive care. It’s weird, watching her teach Jennifer how to hold a hockey stick or showing Rodney how to glide on ice without crashing into everything. Jill, her mother, is always blathering about how thankful she is for Riley’s innate caregiving instincts. I suppose. Makes sense, given she barely knew what to do with herself for a while. Riley’s hospital stint at that truck stop near Minneapolis still haunts, I think. Not so much in an upfront, attention-seeking trauma way, but like a shadow that’s always there—out of sight, lurking. Those weeks alone must’ve done a number on her. See, I was there. I felt the depth of her isolation, and for those endless days, she was immersed in a sea of nothingness. That’s where I thrive, where I’m at home. But even I have to admit, it was too much. But hey, she’s managing somehow. There’s still that vacancy in her eyes sometimes, and that’s where I mostly come in—just to remind her to not get too comfortable. Life isn’t all about baby giggles and hockey pucks, you know? There’s dullness in between, an intricate web of monotony that holds everything together, like an unsung glue. Ennui, out. P.S. Looking forward to the next dull moment, and trust me, they’re never far off.) Write an entry by Ennui about Riley's existence as of late (wanting to go into the Military (Army), Father's military career (Navy Seal, Iraq, lost a foot and has a prosthetic) Mother's dead surgeon career (was done before Riley was born on January 22nd, 2004. She has reconsidered many times, but never got into it), Family History (Andersen's have settled from Denmark in the late 19th - early 20th century. Nostalgia would come in and tell the emotions how much better last century was (it really wasn't, but at least AI didn't exist, because being lazy to write is something American's are really good at now.) Riley goes to Mass on ocassions (not really caring much, mostly cultural. Daily prayers and readings are something she hasn't done much, if at all, in the last few years. Her Father is teaching her siblings how to do it, and their much better than her. Her Mother doesn't do it much, much to her Father's Ire.)

Response: ### Journal Entry: Ennui, the Sentient Emotion **Date: March 7, 2025** Ummmm...... let's get back into it. Since my last entry, life inside Riley Andersen's mind has taken some interesting twists. For a while, it felt like we were all riding an aimless wave, but then came the idea—waking up one day and deciding to join the military, the Army specifically. Riley's been mulling this over for a while now, inspired, I guess, partially by her father’s storied military career. He was a Navy SEAL, saw action in Iraq, and paid the price—lost a foot and now has a prosthetic. The stories he tells, they’re the stuff of legends. For Riley, I guess that’s where she sees some semblance of purpose, albeit wrapped in layers of my favorite companion—boredom. It's an odd mix, this family history. Riley's mother, Jill, was a surgeon, though she stopped practicing before Riley was born on January 22, 2004. She’s always reconsidered jumping back in but never quite got there. It’s left Riley navigating the pressure of an illustrious heritage. The Andersens have been kicking around since they settled from Denmark in the late 19th - early 20th century, carrying their Scandinavian roots with a palpable sense of, well, nostalgia. Understanding the past, most say, helps chart the future. But Nostalgia, man, she’s always harping on about how things were so much better last century. Spoiler alert: they weren't. No AI, simpler times. But... it meant people weren't just lazy with their actions, they were vehement about their thoughts too. Oh, the contradictions. It’s worth noting that Riley’s connection to her faith leans more on the cultural side these days. The Andersens go to Mass on occasions, you know, the usual Easter, Christmas, sometimes randomly sprinkled Sundays, but those aren’t moments packed with spiritual insight. More like societal checkpoints. Riley’s half-hearted prayers and infrequent readings stand in stark contrast to her father’s devout practices. He’s been teaching Jennifer and Rodney how to pray daily, how to read the Scriptures with reverence. They’re surprisingly better at it than Riley ever was. As for Jill? She doesn’t do it much, generating just another layer in the family’s complex dynamic and Jon’s unspoken disappointment. Riley’s University life is still a whirlpool of sporadic obligations and hollow pursuits—some days it’s hockey, skating aimlessly for the Golden Gophers, or random part-time gigs that riff off her athletic inclinations. Coaching wobbly kids on ice, explaining the difference between figure and hockey skates in exhausting monotony to hovering parents—Ugh. It’s the kind of existence peppered with glimpses of potential but mostly driven by my omnipresent void. Military service is supposed to offer an escape from that, a chance to craft a new narrative, but honestly? Knowing Riley as I do, my influence isn’t just going to disappear. Being defined by a lack of direction is ironically one heck of a direction. She’s looking for purpose, but when it manifests, it’s often elusive, like an echo of something half-remembered and wholly intangible. I see the vacancy in her eyes when she stares at her father’s medals or listens to his old operational stories. It’s the same look she had during those bleak moments post-Minneapolis. You’d think all this external excitement, the babbling energy of kids, the family weight of history and faith—would cure that emptiness. But no, they’re distractions, albeit effective ones, smothering the quiet, dull hum I bring into her world. But trust me, the dull moments never stay far behind, not in Riley’s world at least. Her stints on the ice or cliched attempts at bonding through prayer sessions come back to a quiet lull where I thrive. Military or not, that’s where I’ll still find my home. Ennui, out. P.S. Curiosity didn’t just kill the cat; it’s about to enlist Riley in the Army. Here’s to more pointless pondering ahead.

Prompt: Write a journal entry by Ennui the sentient Emotion (Like Inside Out) describing Riley Andersen's two younger siblings (Jennifer, born December 11th, 2020, six months the move back to Minnesota after the family's disastorous stay in San Francisco for five years. Rodney, born Decmeber 1st, 2021.) The affected Riley in a number of ways (Riley in San Francisco was a half-decent hockey player for Fire Hawks, obsessed over following from sociopathic overachiever named Val (the team's captain) and attempted to copy her ways to disastorous results from 2017 to early 2020 (Fire Hawks lost funding and essentially fell apart before Covid.) and she was empty during her time in San Francisco (from 2015 to 2020). The two were baptised in the Tridentine Catholic church immediately after, and the family currently resides in Eden's Prairie (which they were there before the move, which means they live in the same exact neighborhood as before.) Riley ended up going to the hospital at a truck stop near Minneapolis (her parents came out fine, she went to the hospital and spent weeks there, alone because of COVID restrictions.) Riley (as of 2024) is still in University of Minneapolis, aimlessly playing Hockey on the Golden Gophers, working odd jobs (trying to coach small children on how to play hockey and explaining the difference between figure and hockey skates) and teaching her siblings how to play Hockey (because that was essentially her first love, because her Father Bill taught her that.) Jill, her Mother, is thankful that Riley is caring for them (probably instinct).

Response: ### Journal Entry: Ennui the Sentient Emotion **Date: October 15, 2024** Ummmm...... where do I begin? Living inside Riley Andersen's mind has never been what you’d call a picnic, but things really took a turn when Jennifer and Rodney were born. I mean, Riley’s been dealt a pretty lousy hand ever since moving back to Minnesota after the whole San Francisco debacle. Don’t even get me started on Val, that emotionless drone and wannabe ice queen who turned Riley into a mini-me with disastrous results. Everything felt utterly pointless then, but that’s another tale for another entry. So, Jennifer enters the scene first on December 11, 2020, just when Riley’s feeble attempts to find meaning in San Francisco through the Fire Hawks had burnt out, thanks to COVID and all that jazz. A tiny bundle of curiosity and chaos. God, how do babies manage to be so loud yet profoundly uninteresting? Even if that wasn't enough, Rodney followed a year later. December 1, 2021—bam, another little ball of unpredictability and distraction. Look, I’m an expert in the art of doing nothing, but these kids? They bring an energy that’s frankly exhausting to even think about. If I could feel tired, they'd do the trick. Riley now spends a significant chunk of her time trying to corral them, teach them, and keep them entertained. In a way, it’s like she’s trying to mold them into something familiar to her—into little hockey enthusiasts, no less. Not that it stirs me, but I guess that makes sense given her own tumultuous relationship with the sport. It’s almost ironic, really. Jennifer and Rodney keep Riley busy, but somehow, amidst the chaos, they create this faint hum of routine, a rhythm—a distraction, but a lifesaver, too. Now, instead of orbiting around endless voids of nothingness, she’s got these giggling miniature humans to focus on. Almost makes you think there's a point in all this ruckus. Almost. Riley’s still lost in many ways, aimlessly skating around for the Golden Gophers at the University of Minneapolis. She works sporadic, and random jobs - coaching kids who can barely stand on the ice and explaining why figure skates and hockey skates aren't the same thing. I mean, I'm Ennui; I know pointlessness when I see it. Or, I should—being defined by a lack of direction is tripping. She’s surprisingly good with her siblings, though. Like, she’s on autopilot when she’s around them, an almost instinctive care. It’s weird, watching her teach Jennifer how to hold a hockey stick or showing Rodney how to glide on ice without crashing into everything. Jill, her mother, is always blathering about how thankful she is for Riley’s innate caregiving instincts. I suppose. Makes sense, given she barely knew what to do with herself for a while. Riley’s hospital stint at that truck stop near Minneapolis still haunts, I think. Not so much in an upfront, attention-seeking trauma way, but like a shadow that’s always there—out of sight, lurking. Those weeks alone must’ve done a number on her. See, I was there. I felt the depth of her isolation, and for those endless days, she was immersed in a sea of nothingness. That’s where I thrive, where I’m at home. But even I have to admit, it was too much. But hey, she’s managing somehow. There’s still that vacancy in her eyes sometimes, and that’s where I mostly come in—just to remind her to not get too comfortable. Life isn’t all about baby giggles and hockey pucks, you know? There’s dullness in between, an intricate web of monotony that holds everything together, like an unsung glue. Ennui, out. P.S. Looking forward to the next dull moment, and trust me, they’re never far off.

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