The Deliciousness of Boredom

I do believe that I hold within me the memory of sheer boredom, a beautiful emptiness, yet fullness of promise, of things to do in the future, when I grew up. The memory of time devoid of the anxiety that I constantly carry now, anxiety over the rising costs of food, the lowering value of my home, the burden of student loans, and out of control health care costs. When I was a child, these were the worries of grown-ups, and I was pretty sure that they were all capable. This was before I knew that my dad drank too much and that my mom was a bit of crazy. But every so often, I get to remember that feeling, of laying about on my bed, of staring at the ceiling, of walking aimlessly down the block, to see if a friend were home, because, simply because, I was bored.