I am so bored. I am unbelievably bored. As in, I didn't believe I could get this bored. I want to take a walk in the woods, but it's so hot out, and I may be able to after dinner, if I remember. And I've been reading a good book (brand new! called The Claidi Journals by Tanith Lee) and I really ought to get to work on my own story. I keep reminding myself that I need to write every day, and then I just think, why? (To get it finished, stupid! Don't call me stupid! I'll call you stupid if I want to!) That's how conversations with myself have gone lately.

I'm just getting so sick of being the same place doing the same things every day. My ballet workshop is over, now. I don't have anything really interesting happening until the 28th (ballet class sleepover). The friend that I had been emailing with every day is off on a camping trip (started the ninth, and I don't know when he'll be back). I finished my essays on The not-so-Great Gatsby. One of them was only half a page and took me five minutes to write. I wonder how my teacher will take that... But then, she didn't tell us how long they had to be, and I completed all the requirements for it. But anyway. Now I need to start reading The Scarlet Letter, which I think I'll like a lot better, but I have to get the gumption to start.

So while I'm sitting here doing nothing while I've got plenty I should be doing, I guess I might as well write up a page! Hee hee. Oh yes, and A.L., my constant reader, it is a rather girly set, huh? LOL But I've been wanting to use it for awhile and it fit in so perfectly with the topic. It's kinda silly of me, in a way, I guess. But I'm so bored with life right now I could scream. I work off nervous energy by dancing around the house, which makes me hot and tired. and I've been getting annoyed so quickly lately! But I guess there's no help for that. Hisssssssssssssssssss...

The more books I read, the more I want an adventure. But I have to remind myself that it's fiction and that stuff like that doesn't happen to real people. It's a depressing thought. And then I feel like I should swear off fiction, and think, how could I live without it?

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that reality is sadly flat sometimes.

And that I'm bored.

If you'd like to make a contribution to the Make Me Un-bored Foundation, me! No money necessary, just words!