Just five weeks into his summer vacation, all meaningful attachment to this realm of being has begun to dissipate for college student Todd Atlas. Finding his existence superfluous since the summer began, Atlas has degraded into shuffling about his Atlanta home draped in a large comforter blanket and murmuring about what “the guys might be up to.”
Citing “some opportunities that fell through,” Atlas described his vast, empty days as “kind of boring” before inhaling his third box of Oreo’s. The sophomore, no longer adhering to any idea of a schedule or ritual, has been reduced to the most basic survival instincts, including an eleven-thirty wake up time; a scattered, nutrient-lacking diet; and errant showering, though the latter habit has, according to eyewitnesses, drastically declined in frequency with no signs of improvement. Any attempt to reach Atlas for comment is met with slow, foggy gazes, low mumbling, and a tendency to hobble away mid-conversation.
“[Todd] usually likes to take it easy on vacation,” remarked Todd’s father Roger, “but this is beyond relaxation. Before he came home we talked about him getting a job and reaffirming his sense of purpose in this universe, but now the only words you can get out of him are ‘food,’ ‘water,’ and ‘anime.’”
Religious Studies professor Catherine S. Hanson called Atlas’ tremendous ennui “simply remarkable,” clarifying that “what we have here is a total loss of self and a near-obliteration of the Ego. I’ve known people who’ve trained for years to achieve the state [Todd]’s attained in less than two months.