Waiting, bored and broken.

    I used to have loads of toys when I was a kid. I'm not even exaggerating. Every week I would ask my mom to buy me a new toy in which she would irately respond 'I haven't even seen you play with the last toy I bought.' Another exaggeration. Of course she's seen me play with it for a week, probably shorter than that. After I get bored for playing with the same thing for a week, I would put them away in a box big enough to fit a Christmas tree. I told you, 'loads of toys'.

    It's true that I get bored easily. I believe that certain trait of mine grew up with me and is currently living inside this body. I can never do something long enough for it to get finished. Boy, was I surprised when I graduated. I'm more surprised I'm still alive.

    The stories I write never end. Some books I read are left unanswered because I never get to the end, because I keep buying other books. It's like I have a pile of ink and paper in my room waiting to unfold, waiting for interpretation from me. The hobbies I used to have are just talents waiting to be honed. I wonder if this can be a good thing.

    You know, I've never really tested this out to people but I guess my high school friends would tell me I no longer communicate with them. I guess in relationships, I'll get bored with them after a week. Like the toys I used to have when I was a kid. Left in a box, dusty and old, decrepit and broken. Waiting, just waiting, to be picked up once again.