I am currently enduring a state of boredom so extreme that it is almost profound. My thoughts are running rampant with nothing of substance to grab a hold of and think about. While I'm not doing anything of real importance, I have convinced myself that I am partaking in significant acts of monumentous weightiness. I am so bored that I'm convinced I'm busy.
I do actually have a list of things I could be doing and while I select one or two of them to do each day, it takes roughly 4-7 hours of mental preparation before I can get started. If I was to break this preparation period with say, a lunch out or meeting up with friends, I would undoubtedly never come around to doing the things I should be doing. Sure, I have a few people inviting me out, asking for rides, visits, milkshakes etc. but I can't go. I'm too busy. I'm thinking.
I'm an introvert. I like being alone. I find my thoughts far more interesting that anything you could say to me. I am drained by your physical presence. On the other hand, I can be sociable and enjoy interacting with people who meet a hefty number of improbable personality traits that I require of folks I call "friends". But if you leave me alone for too long I will cower into a cave of my own thoughts and attempting to bring me out again is a task perfected by very few. I simply do not have time to answer my phone. The incessant ringing noise, threatening me with opportunities is far too much to handle. I will NOT answer. I will NOT leave my bunker.
In my current state of boredom I have decided that the City of Charleston should plant at least one tree next to every bus stop so that people have some shade while waiting for the bus. I've decided that Buddy does in fact know what the little room under the stairs is for. I also wonder if British people think Americans sing with a British accent AND I've come up with an ingenious idea for a new line of swimwear products.
My life has sunken so low that I am now thoroughly invested in the current season of The Bachlorette and find myself reacting to each of ABC's precisely calculated acts of spontaneous drama. There's a fight in the house? I bet it was that pesky Ben. "He's obviously not here for the right reasons!" I shout, dropping another dark chocolate almond down my throat and adjusting the pillow behind my back in a tempered fury.
Though I never thought I'd say it, it's a good thing I live with my parents. They make me eat and venture into the world on occasion.
How do you like Buddy's new jacket?
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