On Boredom

I am not the type to take boredom in stride. I despise being bored. This is probably why I think about unimportant, purely entertaining, shit so often; I am simply trying to fill the void of time with stuff that amuses me. My rants and rambles on topics such as what I would wish for if I stumbled upon a genie in a bottle or the best time of year to overthrow an oppressive military government serve the same purpose as television programs or fiction novels. Instead of reflecting on my dull and insignificant existence in times of inactivity, I escape into Imagination Land. Unfortunately, I am not blessed with the creativity that some folks use to compose music or write screenplays. Nope, I am severely lacking in creativity. Imagination, yes. Creativity, not so much. The product of my silly thoughts becomes fodder for future conversations, instead of a best selling book or epic comic book series. I can’t draw or sing, I can’t play an instrument or understand poetic symbolism, so my boredom is entirely unproductive. In this world where commercial value and tangible results are paramount, my boredom proves my suspected worthlessness and, in turn, depresses the hell out of me. This being the case, I’ll do all most anything to avoid being bored. I’ll write down my current opinions in blog format, I’ll read books and periodicals for hours at a time, I’ll watch all the special features (including the director’s commentary track) on a DVD, I’ll dismantle a toaster and cover it’s outsides with a collage made of clippings from Rolling Stone Magazine, I’ll do just about anything.

There you have it. That’s what I think about boredom.