“Boredom is your imagination calling to you.”

I swear I saw the sun when I woke up. Now it’s gone, replaced by clouds holding rain. The temperature is the usual for a raw spring day, 52˚. The wind has just started blowing. I need a better day, a prettier day, a day with sun. That won’t be tomorrow either so I’ll have to be patient until Thursday.

When I was a kid, everything was simple. Every weekday was the same: get up, get dressed in my school uniform, a blue skirt, white blouse and blue clip on western tie, eat breakfast, walk to school and then spend most of the day in class doing lessons except for lunch and recess. When I’d get home, the first thing I had to do was change into my play clothes. If the weather was good, I went out on my bike while other times I played with friends. I remember roller skating on the sidewalk with the old key skates. Sometimes we explored the woods and the swamp beyond the field below our houses. I never felt bored.

When I got older, boredom struck. In hindsight I think it and adolescence struck at the same time. Every weekday resembled every weekday when I was a kid. I got up, put on my school uniform, a pleated plaid skirt, a white blouse, a grey vest, nylons and black loafers, ate breakfast then walked to the bus stop. The bus went through two towns. I used the time to study. Most of the day was spent in class learning. The exception was lunch and standing outside for a little while in a paved area surrounded by a metal fence. When I got home, I changed into play clothes then sat at the kitchen table and did my homework. I was bored.

When I was in Ghana, most weekdays were the same. I got up, got dressed in a dress made with Ghanaian cloth, ate breakfast, the same breakfast every day, taught classes, ate lunch, the same lunch every day and then I’d spend the afternoon correcting papers or preparing lessons for the next day. I’d eat dinner, pretty much the same dinner every day, take my shower then read before bed. I always went to bed early. I never felt bored.

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