Boredom

I understand that I’m not interesting. I don’t have revelation to give. I don’t have flowery words to euphemize my life. I have boredom. I have boredom because I seek for boredom, nothing else. I seek for boredom because I know what boredom feels like. Boredom feels like an old blanket, familiar and suffocating. I’d rather not face the cold, so I prefer the blanket. I wish to stay in the blanket until I rot. Boredom doesn’t change. Change is bad, it makes me anxious all the time. I’d rather not be anxious, so I stay away from other emotions. I’ll keep boredom. I understand that boredom isn’t interesting. But why be interested when you can be bored?