I’m Bored

‘I’m bored,’ I sigh.

‘What?’ You ask, a slight smirk touching your lips.

‘You? Bored? Come on,’ you tease. ‘You… with a hundred things on your creativity list? How can you be bored?’ You make a slight pointing gesture before opening your hand in mock surprise.

‘I’m bored at this moment,’ I repeat, fingertips paused pensively on the keyboard. ‘The brain has not kicked in yet.’

‘Even Michelangelo was bored sometimes,’ I reply, an ever-so-slight flip on the edges. ‘I’m sure half way through painting the Sistine Chapel he thought he’d had enough and took a break to have a beer.’

You chuckle. ‘Honey, he probably drank wine. Chianti or something. But that’s not the point.’

You put your hands together as if in prayer.

‘Pray tell… why are you bored? Haven’t you said the world is an ever evolving and exciting place? That there’s always something new to learn?’

I nod sheepishly. I sit back in my chair, taking my fingers off the keyboard.

‘Yeah… right. Happy Happy Joy Joy and all that.’ A pause. ‘Maybe I’m just exploring the world of boredom. Inspecting its boundaries. Tiptoeing to the edge to see how far down it goes.’

You lean back in your comfy chair. ‘Ahhh … checking out the abyss, eh? The depths of man’s passions and despair. All or nothingness. Possibly all for naught. I’ve heard the boundaries are endless. True nirvana vs true blackness. Tottering to the edge doesn’t make so. You have to take that final leap.’

I look at you in a new philosophical light. You know so much. Feel so much. A real Nietzsche.

I look out the window, watching the birds knock each other out of the feeder, the clouds rolling in, a thunderstorm not far behind. I think. I contemplate. I muse. I dig deep into my soul.

I smile at you, finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

‘No … ’ I reply confidently. 

‘I’m just bored.’