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Saturday, October 4, 2008


   Boredom (c) Kelsey Roberts, October 4, 2008
Oh boredom, how I hate you,
You with your nothingness and obsession to do something, but not having the drive to do it.
You make me mope around the house
Several, several times
And each time I find little more to do.
I seriously don't know how you do it;
How you can make it so that, out of 500 television channels, NOTHING is on,
How I can never find anything to do, despite the fact that I have a GREAT collection of video and board games,
How, despite all the friends I have, I can't HANG OUT with any of them.
You make me sick.
You make it so I have to find something to do.
But I never can.
I loathe how I must suffer this eternal headache, yet feel no pain.
How ironic is it that we can land a man on the moon, but we have no cure for boredom?
It is an illness that is brought on by nothing more than a Sunday afternoon with no plans,
A day that has already come to an end, but it is only 3 o' clock,
A time when one normally would be doing something, but is really doing absolutely nothing.
Boredom, I hate you.
If there was something I could do to slay you, I would.
If there was some drug I could take to stop you from coming back, I would, no matter the side effects.
Boredom, if you hear me, leave me alone.
But, then again, you're not so bad.
Because it was out of boredom that I wrote this poem.

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