Boring as a bus ride.

I sit, uninspired, the bus rolls along but my brain is static. It sluggishly struggles for some cognitive state above that of the free Metro newspaper that had entertained it for longer than usual. I have nothing to say. A boring bus journey, yet no different from any other. The difference is in me, it seems. I do my best to make a choice about how I see the world, but it’s not always possible. Is it friendly, or hostile? Is it inspiring, or depressing? Is it as wide and awesome as the galaxies or as mundane and irritating as the chewing gum on my seat? Today, boring. Now there’s a word I dislike- boring. Someone old and wise used to tell me that only boring people get bored, and there’s some truth to it – though don’t let it give you a complex.