At first he tried to pinpoint the precise <br />time that it materialized, or that he became <br />conscious of it, since he suspected it was always there, <br />recessed, praying, cursing, whatever it did <br />when not creating anarchy. <br /> <br />The problem was that inertia, <br />ennui, boredom, or whatever you want to call it, <br />would not be dispersed by motion, <br />activity, or by resolve. It, <br />like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, <br />would not be ignored. <br /> <br />Today, instead, he would give it <br />the attention it so craved; <br />he would not get up and turn on <br />TV Land or load up Solitaire <br />on the Mac. <br />Hello Mr. Boredom, what do you have to say? <br />If anything? <br /> <br />Well, you’ll be cheered to know, <br />this story has a happy ending. <br />“The purpose of my being here, ” <br />the nagging presence revealed, <br />“is to jar you from the compulsion <br />to always be doing, of transposing motion <br />for emotion. To teach you the difference <br />between discontent and malcontent.” <br /> <br />Well, la-di-dah. <br /> <br />At that he retreated to the place <br />where reflection lies, <br />but promised to return <br />for another lesson.<br /><br />Sonny Rainshine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ecstatic-thrill-of-monotony-a-parable/
