On being Wonderful

Sometimes, I suspect people of thinking that I'm wonderful. This is inconvenient.
The first reason it's inconvenient: I'm afraid they're then going to hate me because they're jealous. I don't want people to hate me, I want them to like me. I don't know if this actually happens, but I'm a little paranoid that it does. I don't know why or when this fear developed.
The second reason: because being thought wonderful leaves one with certain responsibilities. At least, I feel like it does, but maybe I'm secretly a dutiful person. Anyway, I feel like I ought to go out of my way to be nice to people so that they'll feel like they are cool enough for wonderful people to like them, which is difficult for me, because I'm not very good at reaching out to people, partly because I'm oblivious and partly because it scares me silly. I also feel like I have to be happy and positive (or brilliant or witty or charming or whatever it is people think I am) all the time around people who don't know me very well, lest I should disappoint their expectations, which is no good, because sometimes I'm miserable and crabby.
So I end up having all the disadvantages and responsibilities of being wonderful without any of the advantages, and that is an unjust situation, I daresay.
The moral of the story is: Thank goodness for my friends who know that if I'm wonderful it's mostly serendipitously.

Why is anyone ever bored?

This afternoon I went to an art museum and looked at several exhibits; the one I liked best was of the art of Walter Wick, the man who did the I Spy series. On the way home I stopped by a bookstore, spent a little time just looking at all the books, then bought a Book of Mormon in Arabic, The Queen of Attolia, and The King of Attolia. This evening I went to a planetarium show, in which the presenters combined scripture and science. It was beautiful, and such was its nature that, combined with my afternoon, on the way home I was in a thoughtful frame of mind, and I realized that boredom is an insult not only to humanity and its centuries of accumulated knowledge, but even more so to the Eternal Creator, the extent of whose knowledge is incomprehensible to our finite minds. How can anyone ever be bored with so much to learn?