In Edward Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies, poor little Neville literally dies of boredom (admittedly, this is perhaps one of the more benign deaths in a disturbingly adorable/adorably disturbing book [which has been stolen from almost every library that has owned it. Modern day Goths have pillaged this book like old-school Goths pillaging land from the Romans.]). It is a death so many of us threatened our parents with when we were young or adolescent... maybe even mimed to be extra obnoxious. It's a death I'm currently experiencing.Truthfully, I never experienced much boredom as a child. With my twin and I being "freaks" to the neighbor kids, everyday was an adventure. Dodging rocks, learning how to take a punch, inventing comebacks to insults, climbing the back fence so as not to go in the front yard- it was all very "exciting." My shaky nerves and quickness to snap at people who stare at me a second too long are all signs of an action packed youth. Good times.
But I can't rely upon antagonistic ruffians to keep me entertained anymore. Being an adult has proven to be bone shakingly boring. Perhaps I should take the lead of a friend of mine. Bought himself a boat ("And it floats even!" he exclaimed enthusiastically when telling me) and plans to set sail with a few friends. Seeing as none are the best navigators, I foresee cyclopes and sirens in their future.
I fear my friend may end up as W is for Will who was eaten by a whale. But I suppose that's probably more exciting than F is for Frank who sat behind a desk until frail. However, I realize that my name fits in this pattern far to well with an end rhyme of "jail", so perhaps I should keep my boredom busting adventures to the moderate side.
posted by jw
