Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Killed by Boredom

It’s a good day. The sun shines bright and the sky looks cloudless. There is something unusually bright about the day. Funny. I thought I’d always like the day so bright and sunny. I look out the window and find a new visitor. The squirrel in the tree outside stares back at me. He does not like intrusion. He twitches his nose and runs into the leafier visage of the tree. He reminds me of an old acquaintance. Just as twitchy and agoraphobic. I have nothing to do today. Nothing. Things seem so dull when you have nothing to do. Mom is outside talking to our neighbours about a recent robbery on the street. Women always find something interesting and common about things to talk. Anything and everything goes for them. I can’t do the same.

The phone has not rung since morning. The electricity has been gone for an hour. I am writing this after it came on. But the pause in the middle was long. Longer than I thought it would be. I always want what I cannot get. They have a fatal attraction around them. I am laughing at myself. I write better when I am drunk. These things aren’t making sense. But so are things in my head. You know that feeling where you felt a dream was so real that you couldn’t believe it was a dream. I am on the opposite end. My reality is floating away, it almost feels surreal. I feel like a spectre wandering without a body. Sometimes I do not know if I choose because I know, or due to the curiosity of the choice. Confusion is an easier situation. I am almost delirious.

Sorry for the senseless nonsense. I wait for mom to return with some interesting news. She’ll tell it to me, whether or not I want to hear it is irrelevant. At least it will take my mind off things. She always knows how to divert me. She’ll know wahts wrong with me without even looking at me. Hope she figures it out because I can’t. Can a person get bored just like that? Get the blues…as they call it? It does look like it. She is walking up to me. I can see that look in her eyes, like she wants me to run some errands.

The cursor pauses for a moment waiting for me to begin typing again. My mind waits for an idea. .

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