I'm not really sure what it is, but I know it isn't indigestion...

A friend of mine is bored. Yes, you - my only male follower. I read your blog and your reflections on life and your frustrations of boredom. Sleepwalking through the world, your job, with only your motorcycle and your blog to entertain you. Certainly, companionship has its merits and your lovely wife and wuppies tolerate your cranky ass; devotion of which I know you are eternally grateful. But you are bored nonetheless. It may not even be your own boredom which creates a haze of lassitude, an uncomfortable awkward feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach and causes you to stare unblinking for minutes at a time until you're suddenly aroused by an auspicious noise and turn hopeful looking for excitement, entertainment, anything to awaken your brain from the hum of its constant stupor and -

oh wait. that could be me. fuck.

OK - so I am bored. But it just isn't my boredom alone that causes me frustration. I am profoundly affected by others' boredom, only I don't think they know they are bored. I think I get the greatest frustration out of those who should be bored but appear to be just fine and settled into their innate little lives, long paved roads of which they have been traveling since before they can remember, no potholes, no deviations, no construction, not even a passing lane. I have written about this before. Obviously I've come no closer to an answer. I feel like there is so much about our lives, about our world that is cause for exploration, for adventure. I cannot say that I empathize with folks who are satisfied with routine though I can honestly say that a part of me is envious of their complacency.

But I'm not really sure that it's boredom. It's more of.....a longing for the unknown.

no. dumb.

A propensity for change.

ugh. Be patient, I'll come up with something once I am on a roll.

I enjoy many aspects of my life. I love my family and friends. Spending time with my son is outstanding.

you know, for someone who frequently writes/types as if the words were flowing from my fingertips like Guinness from a tap, those three sentences were excrutiatingly slooooow.

Not that I am making them up, however. Are you freaking kidding me - my kid is rock star. And I have great friends and family, along with a very supportive and loving boyfriend. Let me tell you why I am so affected by the "boredom" of others, why the moronic complacency of my fellow person seems to suck the wind from my lungs. These zombies with a heartbeat are so fucking happy with themselves, at least to the point where they don't analyze the hell out of it all. My problem is that I haven't fully accepted myself yet and reconciled those life commitments and responsibilities with my passions. I'm not comfortable with myself, and that is a very uncomfortable feeling, and I have such difficulty with that reconciliation I shut it down. I repress it, because if I didn't it would remind me that I have absolutely no idea what it is I want to do with myself and I won't be able to figure it out, I'll have a terrible headache with a crippling depression that lasts longer than Cialis. I'm already half-panicked at the idea of growing old and dying so losing 36 hours of my life because I decided to think about it which resulted in an emotional bender and a full-blown pity party is pretty much not on my immediate to-do list.

But if I am so unsettled, if I am so out of place, if I am so bored, then why don't I just fucking do something about it?

oh, ok. so it's that easy.

What is it that I am going to do? Because I can't spend another 33 years watching other people live their lives and referring to them as zombies with heartbeats and poking fun at their seeming lack of intelligence. Because it's me who is the fucking moron. If I could only get inspired. But that's the thing, I write that and read it over and I know it's total bullshit - I shouldn't be looking for inspiration. It's as if I am always looking for something - for a reason, for an excuse, for a sign, for someone else to do it, to make me do it, whatever. I should try living a little in an active mode rather than a reactive one.

So maybe that's what it is - I'm an electron looking for a chain reaction, a battery in need of a jump...good lord, those are hideous analogies. I'm really reaching for straws here.

I'm not bored, but I'm not...comfortable.

I can blame it on the pad Thai I had for dinner.

Blame it on the ADD?

Blame it on the rain?

The matter of contention is that I am smart as a whip and though I couldn't pass an elementary school test I could kick the teacher's ass in the facts of life. But that and the loose change in my wallet won't get me very far.

This is all coming back to my job again, isn't it?