Boredom

One particular Sunday, Allister found himself staring at the wall. His wall. To his house. There seemed to be boredom in the room. A boredom that may very well have been born that morning, a morning that was still in full effect. The morning has that habit of leaving the mind bewildered and wondering whether it is actually bored or still waking up.

And, so, staring many times seemed not only necessary but also the only option (which, in its redundancy, makes it necessary). The only thoughts bouncing up and down tended to be the question of bored or tired. Allister’s eyes felt tired. But, his saliva seemed bored and proved its point by collecting in the corner of his lips and dribbling down in a puddle of drool. Allister’s eyelids would counter by flittering up and down in attempts to doze. 

And the wall seemed so stable. Allister wondered what would happen first. Would he decide between boredom or tiredom or would the wall change in any way, perhaps crack a bit or fade a tad? Or, would Allister go without an answer? Would he stand and begin a new day just to begin a new day? 

Allister’s saliva puddled. His eyelids flittered. And Allister, not ready to begin his day just yet and seeing the sturdiness of his counterpart, placed his money on the wall.