Reflections on the Nature of Boredom

I had nothing to do from 3:30 to 5 today, trapped in the milieu of downtown. Only ninety minutes, but an eternity of aimlessness. I knew it was because I missed you, and felt disconnected, that I fell into a state of boredom. And it was here, in this state, that I saw that time was quantized, into 30 minute increments. An Orangina while sitting at a cafe (it was hot out)... 30 minutes. A walk through Ross (I bought a belt)... 30 minutes. Visit a bookstore (nothing interests me)... 30 minutes. How horrible it would be to live forever trapped in this meandering hell of nothing to do, but knowing I only had to make it through another few minutes to the next quanta of time to endure.

So here I sit, chickenscratching on a PDA, wishing you were here. I'm never bored when you're around. You are my existential painkiller, that soothes my ennui. You are a walking cure for the blahs. Like a typhoid mary in reverse, you cure the meaninglessness of life wherever you go. I'm so happy around you. What if others knew this joy?

If Hemingway knew you, he'd never woulda had that accident with his shotgun. If Henry Miller knew you, he would have ended up writing happy little poems like Rod McKuen. If Rodin knew you, he would have sculpted only one sculpture, over and over, a portrait of you. But he would have been hopelessly happy!

So now I'm now a train, heading away from you, but in my heart writing my way toward you. With each keystroke, I'm closer to you. With each sentence, the pain is assuaged. Slowly, I return to who I really am -- the one who is lost in the bliss of you. Without you in my heart, only this dull ache of loneliness is my companion.