What to do When You’re Bored, Part I
When boredom drapes the night in endless gray,
A wiser soul would turn to sleep’s embrace.
Yet I condemned to watch the hours decay,
Find rest a specter I can never chase.
The ticking clock recites its cruel refrain,
Each second stretches into empty air.
My thoughts, like ghosts, go pacing through my brain,
Yet slumber shuns me, heedless of despair.
The world at dawn is blurred a hollowed hue,
Each task a dream performed with weary grace.
No potion, prayer, or cure can pull me through —
The night returns, and I resume the chase.
So sleep, if boredom whispers in your ear,
For wakefulness will turn it into fear.
What to do When You’re Bored, Part II
First, stand on a chair and announce the new law: all pigeons are now landlords, and the rest must pay in breadcrumbs. Suppose no one listens, fine. Wander the streets, reciting famous last words until someone stops you to ask if you are well. Assure them you are, though you are beginning to doubt it.
Next, rearrange your furniture so that all chairs face the wall. Host an imaginary talk show where you interview your younger self about the decisions that led to this moment. Take notes. Burn them.
If restlessness persists, consider travel. Walk until you find a street you do not recognize. If no such street exists, make one. Name it after a feeling you’ve never had. Laugh at how ridiculous the name sounds.
When all else fails, sit perfectly still and listen. If you hear nothing, listen harder. If you still hear nothing, congratulations — you have found the edge of boredom. Step over it.