Boredom and It's Children

Boredom has a rather strange assortment of offspring. I am well aware that she is the mother of invention. This is widely known or at least widely held. Invention must be the favorite child. Drowsiness, lethargy, and, homesickness are neglected by the world at large, if not by their own mother.

Saturdays used to mean excitement. They used to mean sleeping in, movies with friends, walks with Katie, baking, beaching, hanging with my family. Now they mean a whole twenty-four hours that I must fill on my own. I am not very good at it, I'm afraid. Essays, bread, stretching, and youtube have been my companions today. Hopefully I get a hold of the two people I know on campus and we can go get ice cream or something.

My dad has commanded me not to think about the future. I'm not supposed to think about the two weeks of essays and finals in front of me. And then I'm not supposed to think about the two weeks of agonizing boredom between the summer and fall semesters. And then the three and a half months after that where hopefully I will be happier, less bored, and more competent, but still away. It's such a tragic word: away.

It's funny, I've been blogging in my head all week. I walked a past rape brick in the hallway the other day (it's a brick with "rape" sharpied all over it, supposedly there in case of, well, rape) and I started describing it to you in my head and thinking about the several ironies and strategical problems of it's position and function.

When my (somewhat nocturnal) roommate was writing her paper at twelve at night and then, an hour later, my next door neighbor started playing an ukulele next door I lambasted both of them in a pretend post. At least I wasn't lambasting them out loud, right? Besides, I had a test the next day.

I've been talking to you all week, but this is the first time I've written to you.

And, honestly, if there was someone I'd know for longer than two weeks that I had the option of communicating with right now then I wouldn't be writing to you. When I left home I was annoyed that so many people I knew were coming here--here, to my new beginning. Now I can't wait. I wish everyone I ever knew was coming.

Everyone! Come!

Over.