Boredom in the Time of Agony

It may seem stupid, or inane, or foolish. It does seem that way.  And it is, too.  To some degree.  (No, not the way I'm writing in fragments).  But writing down thoughts generally.  It immediately makes me think about whether I'm being accurate, and whether what I say has relevance.  Or whether it is coherent.  I'm not talking about audience here. I'm talking about the immediate shift that writing something down allows as compared to solely thinking it--and then trying to evaluate it, whatever that evaluation process entails.  For whatever reason, it is dramatically harder to write something than to just think it.  At least for me it is.  True, there are times when this isn't the case--or when my thoughts just go down plunky-like, not lacking problems or body, what-have-you. 

I don't have anything to report from the land of sobriety, except that it exists.  I'm here.  Okay?  I think there should be a disclaimer, you know?  Life can be boring.  And when you have become convinced that this is true, watch out, because it might get even more boring.  It doesn't have to be that way, okay?  I know.  And I'm not trying to take away from other feelings, feelings that have worth on their own.  But for a moment, let's consider the idea that boredom exists and that we, generally, dislike it.  We become motivated by it to do stuff that we might not otherwise do.  Which is kind of a tautology of idiocy.  But, we do!  Stupid unhealthy stuff. Just to be not bored.  I wish I was telling you about something specific, but I'm not.  For what it's worth, boredom may be useful if I can accept it and not run away.  I think I can.  I think I can.  Just that, it always happens just at the moment when the restrictions of time come back into focus (i.e. maybe one of the key elements for boredom in the first place has evaporated and I am now motivated).  And maybe feeling bored is endemic to needed rest.  Either way. Both ways.  More drama soon, I'm sure.