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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=452482" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bored</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All those times I was bored<br>out of my mind. Holding the log<br>while he sawed it. Holding<br>the string while he measured, boards,<br>distances between things, or pounded<br>stakes into the ground for rows and rows<br>of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)<br>weeded. Or sat in the back<br>of the car, or sat still in boats,<br>sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheel<br>he drove, steered, paddled. It<br>wasn't even boredom, it was looking,<br>looking hard and up close at the small<br>details. Myopia. The worn gunwales,<br>the intricate twill of the seat<br>cover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granular<br>pink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fans<br>of dry moss, the blackish and then the graying<br>bristles on the back of his neck.<br>Sometimes he would whistle, sometimes<br>I would. The boring rhythm of doing<br>things over and over, carrying<br>the wood, drying<br>the dishes. Such minutiae. It's what<br>the animals spend most of their time at,<br>ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels,<br>shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointed<br>such things out, and I would look<br>at the whorled texture of his square finger, earth under<br>the nail. Why do I remember it as sunnier<br>all the time then, although it more often<br>rained, and more birdsong?<br>I could hardly wait to get<br>the hell out of there to<br>anywhere else. Perhaps though<br>boredom is happier. It is for dogs or<br>groundhogs. Now I wouldn't be bored.<br>Now I would know too much.<br>Now I would know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Margaret+Atwood">Margaret Atwood</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=452482" data-title="Bored de Margaret Atwood" data-description="All those times I was bored
out of my mind. Holding the log
while he sawed it. Holding
the string while he measured, boards,
distances between things, or pounded
stakes into the ground for rows and rows
of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)
..."></div>
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