I erase myself in the blank white pages of the screen, beckoning me. I started writing during quarantine. The void was calling. I popped a bottle of champagne from the before-times, when people celebrated, and started my journey. I sat on my bed and wrote apology letters and bad poetry, prose poems and manifestos to the undying. I think, ultimately, writing made me less boring.

When I'm bored I start typing. Something coming from nothing. The phoenix rising from the ashes, a becoming. I'm not good, in fact I'm rather bland and not for everyone. I'm the white pudding that comes in those little cups with lids impossible to take off. When you open me up I explode in a sugar rush, angry and clogged with unnecessary ingredients that leave a chemical taste in your mouth. Or maybe that's my writing.

I struggle with being boring. I've heard that if you're frequently bored, you're a boring person. But then what is writing? It is the void that beckons, and I go willingly. I follow a thought down a path, Hansel and Gretel, bread crumbs that will surely lead me to glory and fame, recognition and happiness. I wonder if people read what I write and decide I am not worthwhile - a boring mess of emotional distress. But I digress. How can anyone be boring who has a passion, a hobby that makes you free at last?

I. The Boring

scrolling.

isn't that

how all boredom

begins?

or is that

the end,

another symptom

of monotony

rather than

the exigence.

has the Boring

been around

since the beginning

of time?

were we created

from boredom

or was boredom

created from us?

still scrolling.

the Boring is

all around us

and we scroll

to keep it away

like an arcane ritual

of human sacrifice.

we raised the knife

to Time's heart

and cut it down,

an offering

to appease

the Boring.

we offer our souls

in the form of

double taps

tapping into

the collective

consciousness

until we have nothing

left to call our own.

the Boring

calls to us

stripping us down

with every click

until we become

one of the Bored.

II. The Bored

the product of

our monotony

soldiers in

conformity's army.

drowning in technology

we no longer know

what we were meant to be.

our purpose lost,

our time spent.

we've crawled too deep

into fantasy

and now we are

tired

of reality.

husks of a self

locked in a cell

we are the Bored,

bored of freedom

and so we seek

confinement.

for in prison we thrive off

the routine;

we get a place to live

a place to eat.

and even the misery

of bruises and beatings

scares us less

than the uncertainty

that comes

with living.

we've taught ourselves

to thrive in routine

forgetting in our hubris

that Change

is always

flexing his fingers

in our direction.

These days I find myself reminiscing on those times when I, as a child, and other children

used to play around in the yard, poor but barefoot, happy and free.

Are today's children happier now?

Spending most of their time on the tablets, computers, phones

and social media sites aside from going to school?

Are they equally as free, barefoot, happy, and thrill-seeking as we were in the past?

Will they, the cute little newcomers to the world,

ever experience as much fun

as we had?

Or am I being a little too sensitive? Now that I'm an adult and no longer as wild, barefoot - thrill-seeking as I used to be?

Or maybe it's that I should be happy in the peace and joy

that I have in front of me rather than nickname that peace as boredom creating the air of an

ingrate around me.

I've heard it said that peace can feel boring when you're used to chaos.

My ex would tell me that I was boring. I was so boring that he would steal anything and everything he could from me to pawn for meth. It was super boring of me to drive him 300 miles to go to rehab. My boring ass took care of his kid the whole time. I was so bored that I continued taking care of his kid even when I kicked him out after rehab wasn't enough. Still so bored that I fought CPS and won, just so I could find his kid a boring adoptive family.

He stole my peace from me for over two years and managed to make it feel like ten. But now, well now he's dead. And me, I have my peace back.

How boring is that?

Every drill

has its

Positive &

its Negative,

the part that

Opens versus

the one that

Forces in...

And neither's

sitting still...

Just like

the boar's

snouted

gapping

mouth

takes

more

heft

than it

gives out,

we have

hovel's

fill of it,

But w/

a lazy

turn,

now &

again,

Effort

reveals

a little

Truffle

in the

end.

02.23.2023

...Tell me more about the Boring & the Bored challenge @Last

Bored is what I saw, but uninterested and bothered is what she felt.

As I sat and tried to pray for the negative thoughts to be wisped away from my brain, the young girl in front of me whispered to her companion, “Broooooo what is she doing? Like… personal space… hehehe”.

We were at church. It was Ash Wednesday.

I was praying during the Eucharist; usually that’s what you do…. while at church… during the Eucharist….

They, the young girl and her group, did not receive communion, so they sat there.

That's fine. No judgement. "To each their own journey" I always say.

Their backs against the wooden bench.

My head nearly touching the young companion she was with shoulder blades.

With my head bowed down in prayer, she whispered again “bro like is she done…”

Granted, I was praying for a good minute. Life has been tough.

But then, my prayers became isolated for myself. “Lord, please, Lord, please, Lord, please shut my mouth and give me patience. Lord, please shut my mouth. Lord, please don’t allow me to set this girl straight and remind her that WE ARE AT CHURCH AND PEOPLE PRAY HERE! Lord, I’m sorry, and please protect my family, Amen.”

I sit back in annoyance and continue to try to focus on the Gospel.

The girl is clearly bored out of her mind.

During the ending Homily of the father, she takes out her phone and takes a quick pic to post on her TikTok.

“Doing the Lords Work :} ” she posted with a photo of Father on the podium.

She takes her phones screen protector off and begins to crumble it.

She begins to say obnoxious remarks to the companion beside her.

I should have been listening to the Word but the benches are so close together that her screen caught my eye and took me out of focus.

Her dad or man figure two seats down from her looked extremely embarrassed.

He kept looking at her with these eyes of “where did I go wrong”.

Because of that man’s already brewing embarrassment, I stayed in my lane of silence.

God clearly opened my eyes to see that this man has enough issues with the teenager. The Lord perhaps did not want me to full on kill the man of embarrassment by pointing out to the girl that she left a mess on the carpet.

I know the person who cleans this big church. It was hard for me to not correct her actions. I figured I'll just pick up her mess after they left. It's whatever.

I stayed quiet and prayed that eventually she will appreciate the setting of the church.

She was clearly not aware that people come here, and usually to pray, even though it very much is.... a church.

At the end she says “oh my god, finally…” and proceeds to walk away with her group.

She was clearly bored and I clearly still have some praying to do.

When bored, a person's soul is bared.

The silence, stillness, loneliness of the outside draws out what is inside and you will discover beautiful secrets, secrets that were never meant to be yours. All for the simple price of observation.

Pay attention to the teenager who pulls out her phone in boredom, and you might see how her thoughts echo in the silence and how she is too scared to face them.

Pay attention to the elderly man whose eyes are glazed over, and you will see that he is daydreaming of lost loves and a full life lived before he dozes and continues to dream in his sleep.

The child who cries and wails and throws a tantrum. Let him yell, for his feelings are strong and through the screams he may find his entertainment.

The lady who putters absently around her home and sings snatches of songs under her breath... if you listen carefully, you can hear a fairytale through her lyrics.

The boy who locks himself in his room. He is not snubbing you, rather he is lost in a book, stolen away on the adventure of his lifetime, only to be deposited back into his room at the closing of the last page.

If you are brave enough, pay attention to yourself.

What do you murmur to yourself alone in the car? To what distant lands do your thoughts travel when there is nothing to tether them to this earth? Do you dance among stars, do you weep with the willow, or do you turn your volume loud to drown the voices out?

Pay attention, and perhaps through the dreams, the tears, and the never-ending musings, you will see yourself.

To be bored is to be real.