One thing I’m sure about: that boredom is innate and cannot be shaken off even when there is plenty of stuff to combat it. Write, read, sing or do whatever you want and boredom will still be a step behind you, knocking at your door humming, “just don’t ever stop, or I’ll come in." It’s an automaton that plays when someone stops doing something. How ironical isn’t it? You simply can’t deny it.
Perhaps by writing about it, I get to choke “him” a bit. Or, I’ll save myself by doing something even if it’s worth nothing. And if it persists, pitty me!