Summer wine turned sour

This game of hide and seek that we play this summer,
I would now like to give up.

Temperatures have soared again, sweat and grease form on my prematurely lined forehead. I rub a line across my brow with my index finger rolling a small spindle of dirt. It looks so familiar to what an eraser leaves on paper after removing an offending HB line. Is time suddenly so still that I can spend it thinking of this? There are better ways of galloping across a seemingly endless period of nothingness. Are my interests only alive to color in my boasts or will they be actually utilized to deal with time that is not spoken for?

Boredom has become like the stereotypical poltergeist who occupies an abandoned mansion defeating the purposes of others for it has none of its own. Who will be the GhostBuster to my bone sucking brand of tiredness? While not being explicitly tired of anything in particular, everything earns disfavor. Be it the heat, the lack of a home cooked meal in months or the dreariness of repetitive, obligatory duties. Each activity shrieks more of misery than any other emotion. In a world where few have a single hobby or even the inclination to learn about obscure things, is my dejection justified? The lack of a regular TV show to watch or a weekend movie to indulge in without shame or disappointment, is that the extent of my troubles? It might be a thirst for good conversation, of informed dialog and gentle shared laughter. It is perhaps the absence of the excitement which an architect of new building shares with the captain of a ship on a fresh voyage.

Yes that seems it, the desire for change has now overwhelmed the need.  Not to change the World, or anything so drastic. When others seem so comfortable in oblivion, why would I seek anything higher? What I seek is a change in my environment, my immediate vicinity. Those things, processes, lives, beings, cups, saucers, mugs and toothbrushes with which I interact daily. Change more for rhyme than reason. Every fortnight I can’t wrestle with all my demons to embark on this recursive quest for purpose! No, I must stop this incessant cycle of self pity, desire for motivation, followed by brief spurts of energy.  What is summer but a drier, hotter, equi-spaced period of global evaporation? It used to be sweeter, full of vacations and hugs from grannies. Hide all you may, oh spirit of drive and intent, I will now find you!


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