I remember what it used to be like to be bored. Before work, before marriage, before kids. Between semesters, between camps, between weekends. Boring. What a foreign concept that has become.

Now boredom equates to sitting in a waiting room, and even then I have a portable smart device to keep me occupied if I’m not chasing a toddler around the place. The only other time I get close to boredom is when I am driving in the car on a long road trip, so long as everyone else is asleep and not screaming or crying or puking.

But I don’t really miss it. Sleep I miss. Boredom, not so much.