I'm Talking the Talk

Boredom: The state of being dull, uninteresting, or monotonous.

Boredom is a kind of low level depression, the selfish luxury of people who have too many good things and no appreciation of any of them. When I'm bored I'm not grateful. I'm expecting life to deliver -- on a silver platter with a couple of cookies -- even more things that I don't deserve and will promptly ignore.

Willie and I had a cup of coffee yesterday -- when we both should have been working, I'll point out -- and made our case about who was most bored. It was a real Bore Down. He showed up after an alleged sales call in shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes.

"Working hard?" I asked. His reply was unprintable. He did graciously inquire, though, what I was doing in a coffee shop in the middle of a work day afternoon. I told him where to go, or what he could do to himself, I don't remember which.

We decided after a while that we weren't behaving too well. I suggested that while I didn't know if he was going to go to Hell that it was going to be pretty hot wherever he ended up and that there would be a lot of bad people there. He wondered why I didn't just pour gasoline over myself and strike a match. "That way," he said. "You won't be so shocked when you end up at your final destination."

The funny thing is that this really was the gist of the discussion. The benefit to me in talking to old friends in recovery is that I have to hear how ridiculous my thinking can be. Some of the stuff that makes perfect sense when I'm all by myself sounds hilarious when I say it out loud. A few times yesterday Willie just looked at me, didn't say a word.

Didn't have to.