Week 8
I’m bored.
Everybody’s bored.
We’re so bored of doing the stuff we usually do when we’re bored. We’re so bored we don’t remember the stuff we did when we were bored before. We’re so bored we’re too bored to do anything except talk about how bored we are. Sometimes we’re even too bored to talk about how bored we are so we just sort of make eye contact and shrug and understand that we’re bored.
There is a lethargy creeping upon our bodies, slowly suffocating our will to move. Even the most mundane things, like folding those towels that have been sitting in the basket for two days, are beginning to feel like a momentous task. Yes I know it will only take me two minutes to do it, but I just don’t want to. Because I’m too bored to do anything anymore.
And now that things are allegedly going to start opening up again, I can’t help but wonder…am I going to remember how to do stuff again? And am I even going to want to? Because let’s face it; we still really shouldn’t be dashing out the door to congregate; there are still no sports or extracurricular actives for the kids; there’s not a whole lot of reasons to be running around town searching for some normalcy. We still have many weeks of wide open, long days ahead of us. And if I can’t even take my damn towel to sit on the sand as I watch my kids in the ocean, can we even go to the beach? And if we do go to the beach, are all those psychos on Nextdoor going to be stalking everyone with their nifty camera phones and keyboard warrior fingers?
I used to be so good at being bored. I was a child of the 80’s and 90’s; we were created to survive boredom. We came home to houses empty of parents after school and watched one episode of The Brady Bunch before there was nothing on so we just wandered outside and maybe spotted a neighbor kid and rode bikes aimlessly until dinner. We filled thousands of summer hours with nothing to do expect our daily chores and watch the clouds drift by as our imaginations wandered the world while we laid with our backs pressed against the scratchy grass. As I grew older and left home and moved to cities where I was a stranger to it and everyone, I filled my time with solo trips to the movies and the bookstores and sometimes long walks through Target. (For the record-still all my favorite things to do alone.) And then I had babies and I was home with them and though no one can prepare you for the isolation and loneliness that go hand in hand with being a stay at home parent, we eventually found our little ways to keep our long, groundhog days full.
But my brain is so tired now. My brain got so tired of trying not to be bored of being bored I think it shut off; the lack of activity sending a signal that said, okay. We got her. She’s done. Shut this baby down and run her on autopilot. Wake up. Work out. Start school. Walk dog. Clean house. Make food. Wake up. Work out. Start school. Walk dog. Clean house. Make food. Each day crawling by with the hands of the clock ticking as if covered in molasses.
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I bear no brunt that is greater than someone else’s. My situation comparatively is fortunate to many others and I don’t forget the sacrifices so many are making. But I think I speak for all of mankind when I say: I’m done. Please we promise to be good can we please be done? Pretty pretty pretty please? With a cherry-printed mask on top?
I can’t think ahead to fall and the idea that we may still have to distance learn. I can’t think ahead to the summer weeks when the days will still be stretched out long before us with limited activities to entertain us. I can’t think ahead to next week, wondering if it’s okay to try and leave on a three day weekend or is that just stupid and selfish? I can barely think ahead to tomorrow when I might try and go to the car wash because it sounds nice to have something “normal” to do again. I’ll just be here, getting though today, hour by hour, as gracefully as I can. Like we all are.
So I guess that means I should go ahead and fold the damn towels already.
Just in time to wash them again.
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