Read Dear Opl for Free Online

the answer to, “How do we cure meat?” But I haven’t come across the answer to a problem that doesn’t exist. At least in my world.
    Define boredom. I’ve never experienced it before. Are there symptoms? Is it like a tickle in your throat or dribbly sniffles?
    Hold on a second. Let me ask a friend. Okay, I’m back. I just texted two. Neither one of them knows what you’re talking about. Oh, wait. Yes, we do. History class. If I’m right, only one cure exists: hearing the bell ring.
    All kidding aside, your average kid knows almost nothing about boredom. We have more things to entertain ourselves with than most people have had hot dinners. We’ve got cell phones and smartphones, computers and Game Boys, Wiis and iPods. If we choose (not that any of us actually could), we wouldn’t have to learn how to read because programmed voices can narrate any tale out loud to us from our e-readers. There’s even a gadget that will plug in our own voice—or anyone else’s we want—to read the story to us. We can create hip-hop tunes and wicked rap songs, jingles for commercials, or even an entire film score with nothing more than laptop software. Who needs piano lessons?
    Plus, there are kids in my class who had to take violin lessons, play soccer, and spring around in tutus for ballet classes long before first grade. I don’t think many of us had a chance to learn to color. There wasn’t time.
    Then there’s the problem of school. I think teachers believe kids have twenty-seven-hour days, and they’ve put us to a challenge, betting on just how much homework it will take to break the camel’s back.
    So the question of how to cure boredom is super confusing. No offense, but I’d love to see just how many of us get the opportunity to experience the bliss of boredom. And remember, history class does NOT count.
    I sat back and looked at the jelly bean–less carpet. Just a big poppy. It was pretty, but looked drab without the added festive colors of FD&C Blue #1 and Yellow #5. Where had they all gone so fast?
    Still, looking at my assignment book, it felt good to cross another task off my list. I punched down the Publish button on my screen and then gasped. I had meant to publish this to Mr. Vandervart’s Dropbox! I had accidentally opened up a blog post rather than a Word doc. I’d been so busy trying to keep my mind off the results of going public that it actually worked.
    â€œOh no, oh no, oh no,” I groaned into my laptop. “I can’t believe I just did that. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I snagged the quilt off my bed and then crawled over to my desk drawer to pull out the package of M&M’s. Bad news needed cushioning.
    Typing my blog address into the menu bar, I held my breath when my three essays appeared. I saw the newest one at the top and scrolled down to my first blog entry. I scowled at the dreaded comments section below it. I can’t believe blogs invited people to leave rude opinions once they finished reading. I’d totally forgotten. And had I remembered, I would’ve ditched the idea and run for cover. Sure, Mom, I think your suggestion to write a public pudge profile rocks. It’s bound to score me some popularit y points.
    Ugh. I saw three comments. Summer had responded to my first blog entry. She’d said,
    Pinkpetals: Opal, you are too funny. See you at school tomorrow.
    Two more sat at the bottom of my second entry. One from a girl I didn’t know. It said,
    Cloud9: I always “get sick” on the day of the President’s Challenge. That way, I can do all the tests with my PE teacher after school as a makeup and my scores are totally private.
    Wow. She might have something there.
    G-pa had clearly written the last comment. He must have figured out how to surf the net. It said,
    Graybeardgaffer: IT’S A WASTE OF TIME MAKING KIDS EXERCISE. THEY SHOULD BE OUT IN THE STREETS WITH A TIN CAN