You have some free time on your hands, so you click on the link to a certain website. You begin to scroll through new titles, intending to read something, but you can’t find anything that holds your attention longer than the first few lines. You shortcut to the bottom of the page to see what’s up, but you see that no one has said anything new from the last time you were there a week ago.
You log out.
You begin to stare at the ceiling; at the rotating fan. You train your eye on one of the blades; watching its futile pursuit of the others in front of it. After a while you begin to blink your eyes rapidly to pretend that you’re slowing the fan down.
You know the problem is from you. You’re just bored and definitely not in the mood to do anything.
You walk to the fridge and hold the door ajar for a bit, mentally classifying the things inside each compartment into what’s about to spoil, what’s still fresh, and what you wish was there instead of what actually is.
Your eyes fall on a carton of yoghurt, so you decide to pour yourself a glass. It tastes sweet.
You begin to remember the sweat-faced and tired-looking market lady you’d haggled the price of the sixpack of yoghurt with, and also begin to wonder when last she’d tasted something like it; or if ever. Likewise the okadaman you’d flagged down when you decided it was time to go back home.
You know the problem is from you. You realise that people already have too much to think about on a good day, trying to survive, to begin to post spell-binding writeups or stories just for your benefit.
…least of all for free.
You go to sit at the desk. Then you get up to go to the couch. You pick up the remote control and begin to flick through the channels on cable television, but soon you begin to doze off.
You catch yourself. You stand up and walk around because you don’t want to fall asleep again, having been asleep all morning and for the most part of the afternoon; knowing that if you continue that way, you’d be left awake all night, staring.
You switch the television off. You know the problem is from you because it seems that even paid content doesn’t engage you.
So you go back to a certain website and decide to post what you just did for the past thirty minutes. You tag a few people, and you get over two hundred views; with ten comments commiserating with you on the all too familiar feeling of boredom.
One after the other you begin to reply them, and you do some jesting back and forth. In the meantime the views swell, and the comments as well. But then something strikes you as you continue to enjoy the banter with your readers; as with reply after reply you’re starting to get more and more entertained, but less and less sure that the problem was just from you.