Warning signals?

I feel like this cat.

When I was about eleven, I got the chance to earn some money from potato picking. I was excited and rushed off to work the first day dreaming of the money I'd earn. By tea time, I couldn't stand up and hobbled home in a bent position. This was repeated day after day until I could eventually do it without pain, but then the boredom kicked in.

That's what my writing feels like at the moment - or rather the rewriting. I've lost count of how many times I've rewritten it all.

Are spurts of boredom warning signals? 
Photo of cat (at top of page) by Juan Gomez on Unsplash