The Art of Being Bored

Gazing intensely over the remnants of a sunset, I anticipate the rising moon and stars, feeling fresh cut grass beneath my feet. Perhaps I’m a tad bored, no where to go after all.

Restaurants are closed. Shops are closed. Gyms are closed.

*Gasp*

“Not the gyms!”

Nothing is open. Friends are shut in, boyfriend’s across the state (I’m not crying at all), and I’m here with Paul the spider.

He’s my new friend. I think he’s safe of any debilitating viruses, but he doesn’t appreciate being stalked. Don’t know why? I think it’s fun watching little Paul.

I miss mindlessly scrolling for hours on my phone, but one can only handle so much doom and gloom.

Now here I am_ bored, terrified, anxious, and antsy.

So I wonder.

How did ancient astronomers calculate the existence of planets and stars by watching the night sky every night?

How does one cut and sew delicate, extravagant dresses from yards of fabric?

Why and how did the greatest artists create masterpieces out of humble rocks and stones with no YouTube tutorials?

Then I wonder (I stay in my head quite a bit, don’t I?) perhaps I can create something beautiful and lovely. Nothing mind-blowing or earth-shattering. Just a little slice of beauty for my enjoyment.

But what should I piece together?

Maybe yummy homemade breads, cute little couch pillows, pretty arrangement of wildflowers, romantic stories of love and hope, or paintings of daffodils and irises?

I’d work myself to frustration though, meticulously planning and outlining. I’d bore myself with the minor details.

Maybe I’ll stick with mindless phone scrolling and instant entertainment like movies and TV. I mean, at least I won’t be bored.

What do you think I should do?

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