The setting doesn’t matter – shack or palace, car park or ship at sea.
Whereas we fool ourselves we’re in love, or convince ourselves we’re ill, boredom has the benefit of authenticity.
Familiarity breeds contempt, but the stop-over is boredom.
Insomnia is boredom made flesh. The mind races, the body can’t be bothered.
Tedium is boredom in jacked-up, drawn-out form. Boredom can be found within minutes in a waiting room. Tedium needs a marriage.
What lies in boredom? Brood, for one thing, and also doom.
Boredom disperses. Tedium leaves a stain.
In Italy: “Don’t tell me it’s going to be another beautiful day.”
Boredom comes on its own, often by accident; it is not something that can be achieved.
In class we blame it on geometry; in museums on dismal painters. It can be a personal failure, though we seek the cause externally.
It’s no surprise that boredom rhymes with whoredom. We all fall victim to it occasionally, but only some make it a career.