Bored as a Bird
It’s been a long semester. It’s 6 am, I’ve been up all night finishing my essay, and my plane takes off in three hours. I dash off the last few sentences, email it to my professor, and slam my laptop shut. Five minutes later, all my stuff is crammed into a too-small suitcase and I am out the door.
Home. I’ve been waiting for this for what seems like forever. It’s finally warm out, I finally have no tests or homework, and the world is mine. After a joyful reunion with my family at the airport and a short drive, I’m there.
It only takes an instant for everything to go down hill. Suddenly, the moment I arrive in my bedroom, free at last from responsibility, I feel a new weight on my shoulders - the awful weight of boredom. My empty desk stares back at me, and I realize that eight weeks stretch by, and I have no plans. I try calling my friends from high school, but everyone is travelling, or working in another city. Days pass. I twiddle my thumbs, literally. I sink into a daze of web surfing, interrupted by breaks for yogurt and less healthy indulgences. Going against everything I knew as a child, I decide that I hate summer. Hate it, hate it, hate it.
On the haziest, muggiest day yet, I wake up drenched in sweat to the sound of birds outside my house. I turn my head over on my pillow, but they only get louder. Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed and to the window, only to realize that there is no window, and I am on an uncomfortable mess of twigs and mud. I start to yell, but what comes out is “Squaaack!” I look down at myself in shock. This was not what I asked for. But at least it will be an interesting summer.