Bored.
When did I become a boring person?
Bored.
Over a month, I went on day after day with an image of a blinking cursor in my mind bearing just one word, one thought, one state of being, bored. Everything I did, every question I answered, every manner in which I spoke, ate, sat, carried the word visibly. Still, I never seemed to speak about the context of my boredom, I never got past the “I’m bored” and “I don’t know”s, so I just continued to stay there, silently, waiting, but what was I waiting for that could overturn this boredom if not the active will to change that state?
When did I become a boring person?
My alarm goes off at 6 am, and I already know how the day ends. I’m caught in a cycle of repetition I can’t seem to break free from. I have lived this day one too many times— breakfast never happens as I start in search of my lab coat, only to wade through hours of shuffling feet of every other student also thrown in the rat race without an understanding of the purpose of participation, lunch is the new breakfast, wherever it happens, I rarely seem to care what it is anymore, as long as it fills, everything tastes the same, like boredom, followed by long walks hoping for something different, anything different, something that gets me to write about this abstraction eventually—, I have become a part of the mob, trapped in collective consciousness, seeking escape.
I have become a boring person.
Wolves
There are two wolves inside me, and they roam in a circle, neither leading the other, both hoping the other would turn the other way, but unwilling to be the one to turn. Boredom has rooted them to the path, enslaved them to hope, because God knows hoping feels better than action, you don’t fail if you keep hoping, you don’t lose anything in hope— except yourself —, hope that tomorrow will be that one day that whisks the boredom away. But the sun, no matter how fierce it shines, never gets in until you get up and swing open the curtains; boredom never leaves unless you pick yourself up from it.
There are two wolves inside me, and they will run that circle until they reach their breakaway velocity.
"Still, I never seemed to speak about the context of my boredom, I never got past the “I’m bored” and “I don’t know”s, so I just continued to stay there, silently, waiting,", [because] "hoping feels better than action, you don’t fail if you keep hoping, you don’t lose anything in hope— except yourself"...
sigh
"Boredom never leaves until you pick yourself from it" this is soo true, but it's sooo hard when one is also battling with executive dysfunction. I try as much as I can to be spontaneous but I always fall back into old habits....smh.