“Boredom: the desire for desires.” – Leo Tolstoy

Most people make me uncomfortable. And then there are people I care about. I like to think I’m a loving human being, but there’s obviously a limit to time and energy and I select who to bestow my goodness upon, quite carefully I might add. Professionally I have to meet people I am disinclined towards, that is to say, I wish them no harm but I find their presence either disturbing or dry and boring. I can’t say which I dislike more, the disturbance or the boredom, perhaps the latter. I found substance abuse to be most helpful in this regard, boredom.

Boredom is surprisingly subtle. And comfortable. I have actively sought to distance myself from the tedium of ‘everyday’ life, let me elaborate. I can spend time with my plants everyday but I cannot read the newspaper. I can love the same person everyday but I cannot work towards a manmade goal such as more money, or a ‘working’ albeit dishonest relationship. However, I have found myself in moments of drunken excitement, feeling safe in a conviction that these are exactly the things I want, goals that are tangible, reachable, that do not require me to expand my intelligence or understanding. It’s still clearing up, the fog, but the unnecessariness of some of it, the people I’ve paid attention to, the under confidence, the skepticism that I ignored, the intuition that I shushed, all boosted by the consumed chemical.