Bored of Myself

When people are bored, it is primarily with their own selves that they are bored. Eric Hoffer

It driving me nuts....this feeling of being worthless and silly. Of existing as a non-thinking being who merely dissipates the conundrums of other thoughts as her own in an attempt to disguise the lack of activity in her upper floors.

What is it that holds me back from freeing myself from this exile? Why have I chosen this over the many more ridiculous methods of existence? Do I crave life and joy no more? Do I not want to enjoy the pleasures up for grabs in nature? What is it that ails me? And makes me want to hide beneath the sheets all day long? To pretend exhaustion when all I really want is to go out there and let the sun shine down on me, holding me aloft in the public eye.

Why do I fear company? Why do I shun contact with the world? And the chance to engage in meaningful conversation? Have I lost the capability of holding my own? Or is it that I no longer enjoy the nuances of argument which have always taught me insightful lessons and the truths of life?

Maybe I am a bit bored of the routine. I am bored of the same faces that greet me day after day as I wake up and smile. I am bored of the same things they say in varied tones and accents. I am bored of the silly mails that remind me that those beings that I have been running away from still exist and care. I am bored of the noises that creep in through the pores on the walls making me shrink into my blanket. I am bored of the way the maid walks in punctually at 1300 wanting to do the clothes and vessels. I am bored of the weekends that mean nothing but a movie and a dinner. I am bored of weekdays that mean nothing but cooking, waiting for hubby, soaps on TV and a quiet dinner together. I am bored of everything around me. I am bored of life, of predictability, of togetherness, of this town, these people, of myself.