This is probably the most boring day I’ve had in quite some time. It’s not very often when I can sit in one spot for hours at a time and just feel useless.

Woke up at 6:30 to go to school, as always. We had our Veteran’s Day assembly – it lasted almost two hours. Two hours, most of which consisted of long speeches given by students and faculty about the history of war. I’m surprised West Ottawa can expect its students to sit through this every year without growing restless. I stared at the clock the entire time, counting the seconds as they went by. Then something Jenn Starry said caught my attention. She was talking about her grandpa serving in WWII. Suddenly, I could se my grandfather on the stage, smiling towards me. His big belly and large hands as I had always remembered them. He was wearing his uniform, with all the medals pinned to the front. A tear formed in my left eye, and I quickly stopped listening to the words that caused my memory.

I looked at my knees, at the flute laying across my lap. I could hear my grandpa telling one of his stories about Italy and the battles he fought while there. I could picture him sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, wearing his ever-present suspenders and the glasses that slid down his nose, dealing our four decks of cards to teach my brother and I how to play Hand and Foot. I see him napping in his chair, a towel placed behind his head. He was so strong, so capable. I wonder if he can hear my thoughts, and if he misses me as much as I miss him.

I went home after the assembly and went back to bed. Slept until 3:30 in the afternoon, and finally woke up to change out of my skirt. I put on a pair of light blue hospital pants stolen from Iowa. And continued reading A Rose in Winter.

Made pancakes for dinner since my parents did not seem to be coming home. Made a list of everything I had eaten during the day, and then tore it up in frustration and disgust. I fed the last pancake to my dog, and went back to bed.

I woke up to the sound of my brother’s girlfriend laughing. My parents had finally gotten home, and there was a package waiting for me on the kitchen counter. It contained a copy of Winter’s Heart, the ninth book of Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series. I smiled briefly, read the first page of the prelude, carefully placed the book on a chair, and went back to sleep.

Overall, not a very pleasant day. Even the arrival of my long-awaited book did not have the power top lift my spirits. Boredom seems to have that effect.