Brent Que

Boredom was the overpowering state of mind around me, in the house, in the city, in the country, in much of the world. A dictator of decisions for the populace, impressively exercising more control than sex or hunger. Days spent opening emails, closing tabs, shuffling folders, scanning documents, rewording reports, copying, pasting, and changing video conference backgrounds. Nights wasted scrolling, swiping, tapping, liking, pinning, and tagging while bingeing shows missing plots. In between filled with traffic, stoplights, crosswalks, packed transit, music, odors, voices, nausea. Everything overwhelmingly boring.

I kept boredom, the illness, the enemy, away for a long time with deep engagement with my work. Eventually all the challenges were met, and afternoons were occupied by snacks and siestas. I felt fear brewing each moment that was lost in battle to boredom: wondering when I would be caught and reprimanded for a lack of productivity. Every question asked was answered with a predictable, repeated solution.

I was haunted; I was desperate; I lost control.