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When I was at my first bigger class reunion we visited our old school. Most things had changed - schools are more living creatures than buildings apparently.

I sat down at my old place in the classroom and looked out the window. When I saw the old tree in front of it, it immediately struck me:

How many hours must I have spent watching this tree and while dreaming away utterly bored by what was happening around me.




I remember that boredom the same way I remember a traumatic memory. It almost induces physical pain, my mind rejects the idea of it so firmly that I have a physical reaction.

I found elementary and middle school particularly hard. I was always writhing inside, craving being anywhere else, daydreaming, drawing, anything but what I was expected to do. I must have lived a thousand imaginary lives inside those schools.




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