Boredom

The supreme level of boredom begins like this: you go to school expecting to be moved or touched or actually told something you care about. But what happens is what happened yesterday, and the day before, and it is what is going to happen tomorrow and the day after. You walk from class to class, and you aren't moved except by that bell, nor is there any touching except perhaps a little of the unwanted stuff, and as to being told something you care about, well, it may be that I care about the wrong things. But that doesn't matter; I'm talking about boredom. So there you are. You didn't get enough sleep last night because you stayed up way longer than you should've doing… stuff. That lovely word that so many people can't understand… I think I have an unhealthy fixation on it. The reason adults have so much trouble understanding it is 'cause it means something different for every person. My "stuff" might be to tinker around on my site, or read, or write, while another's might be to plop himself down in front of good old TV, and another's might be to completely remove herself from what she thinks is a sucky life by inhaling pot, or if she's out of money, White Out is good too. And stuff is ever changing. Two weeks ago, the "stuff" I do might be totally different from the "stuff" I do now. But what's always the same is that the "stuff" I'm into is never the CRAP we do in this building.

I am one of those people that stay up late writing. It's really the only time when I can write without my parents barging in on me, and asking to read what it is I'm writing. My mom anyway, because it's not like I exist for my father. And I guess that's the reason I usually write on paper and not on the computer. There isn't a computer in my room. So anyway, I stay up until every single person in the house is asleep and then go into my closet and turn on the light, and lay on the floor writing. My elbows have terrible carpet burn, but I haven't been caught yet.

So whenever I say that school sucks, I wish I were at home, and some little idiot asks what better thing I'd be doing were I at home, I like to say SLEEP. I mean, isn't that important for me to survive? Sleeping? And I just explained why I can't ever sleep at a reasonable time. So to me it's like every day I go to school, I'm losing eight hours of sleep, and trust me, that is so NOT cool. I don't really know why I like sleeping. It might be that you're sort of removed from that "awful" life. I haven't actually tried any drugs so I don't know the advantages of that over sleep, but you do get to shut your eyes to your problems for a couple hours anyway, and go off into the only perfect place in this world and life, your brain. Or actually, sinced I was talking about myself, MY brain. My dreams are neither too awful nor too wonderful. They're just crazy and mixed up, sort of like real life, only less boring. They're not anything I particularly enjoy or look forward to, but they're also not anything I dislike. They're just there. I actually prefer the dreams I make up on purpose, and that's impossible to do when you're sleeping.

But the thing is, when I'm at school, I can't just sit in the corner making up stories. I have to pay attention or else they write home and tell them to send me someplace that's even worse than school is. I can't just lay my head on the desk and pretend to be ten years and a hundred miles from here because the teacher would tell me to pick it up, because, you know, I should listen to what she has to say about Kenya or indirect object pronouns or how to add. My school teaches to a standardized test, and good for us, we're not worse than we were last year in math. I'm glad we're doing so well. Humph.

So I come here day after day, and am bored out of my mind, and for what purpose? So that at the end of these twelve or thirteen very long years, I can get this sheet of paper that'll get me into another school. And the funny thing is, I want to stay in school. It's not learning I'm so against; it's just high school. Blowing it up isn't going to work. I have to think of a better way, one that grants me… freedom. Maybe I'll just buy the car that promises me that… sigh… yawn…