Boredom nearly trumps tired

I find this nearly unbelievable, but I am actually more bored than tired today, despite a very fitful night of sleep. Oliver is home again and has watched approximately 85 Word Worlds; to be clear, those were the same seven on repeat because he refused to watch a different show, and we only have 7 on the DVR. I detest all of those animals now. We have made soup, granola and brownies. We have read stories and cleaned our rooms. When it's not drizzled, we've gone out, taking Percy for a walk, planting some flowers, raking leaves and getting ravaged by mosquitos. In mid-October. Frankly, this was the final and worst insult. All of this, and it is only 2:20p. This day is dragging like desiccated molasses in a dried-out river bed. My brain hurts, and I think it will soon start seeping out onto my shoulders. I just dropped Nutmeg's food container onto my big toe's nail-bed, and now it's bleeding.  I am so utterly disinclined to do anything remotely related to anyone under the age of 30, much less tend to their needs which sometimes are sweet and sincere and at other times so completely inane and dull that I think I might consider wedging a screwdriver into my ear. I feel grumpy and borderline mean because I am frantically tired and have not yet had time to feel sad or process anything of the past week. Grr, I say, grr!