Ralph was 13. Ralph was bored. The two states are not incompatible.

He had wandered downslope from school across the fields, the light falling on his head as it always did, teased a few of the farm animals, insulted his little sister and annoyed his parents; as always. Nothing ever happened, nothing ever changed; the universe hated him.

After the usual sullen meal of the usual sullen food, Ralph finished his homework, submitted it and toyed with a few games on his tablet; he still couldn’t make that jump and kept falling into the ravine. Life sucked.

He mooched over to the window, annoyed at the universe at forcing him to exist, and touched the selector. The window burst into life and showed him the fields of the starship glowing faintly blue as they diverted the sparse intergalactic matter; the ship itself, drawing power from the fabric of the multidimensional plenum, scorched its way from Earth to M83, as it had for 70 years, as it would for 50-ish more.

Ralph regarded this blankly. God, life was dull.