No matter what I do, I want to be somewhere else.

It doesn’t matter if I watch a movie, write or draw, my mind like to take me to places. Even in my sleep I just want the quiet part to happen. I’m drained when I wake up and can’t write – won’t write! I take a walk instead, a long one. The mind begins to empty and fill up again with funny stories because I’m bored. It’s the best to be bored. Sometimes I amuse myself by going down a strange path, into an alley and find a quirky looking tower from the last century or something or a driveway with a lot of junk on it that tickles my imagination and a story takes form about the person that lives there. The stories are endless but making them understandable for you guys is the biggest drag in the world!

It’s only in books that I find some sort of peace. My head keeps shouting but the words I read drown them out, partly, sometimes totally. They just won’t shut up and I’m too scared to tell them to. The things in my head might be better than real life, after all, otherwise I wouldn’t be bored to begin with.