it’s such a curious thing, this boredom thing.

I remember it from being a kid – nothing that I want to do.

I think now it’s that I don’t want to do any of the things I think I should do.

  • I don’t want to plant garlic in the little patch in the field – soon, but not today.
  • I don’t want to do the dishes
  • or the laundry
  • or any cleaning of anything
  • I don’t want to call the bank to discuss the $20 charge
  • I don’t want to read
  • or listen to a book on tape
  • I don’t want to play online boggle
  • I don’t want to practice my drum (though I think I should)
  • I don’t really want to talk on the phone
  • I don’t want a drink
  • I don’t want to visit my parents (they’re not home anyway)
  • I don’t want to cook
  • I don’t want to eat
  • I don’t want to go anywhere

So is it a failure of imagination?

on some level it feels like good news cause I’ve been running around like a mad woman for days and days and maybe this is what resting feels like and I’m just not used to it and so I’m calling it boredom when really it’s peace.


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