Letting Go, or Something Else Entirely

The other day (I think it was yesterday) I made a post about being annoyed at a thing I wrote a few days before that. In that second post, I complained that I did not like how I made the first post. Now I find myself on the verge of a three-peat, wishing to critique the second post, not because I disagree with its position on the first post, but that I still don’t enjoy my own writing this week. I was going to write a blog post about it, in fact, and in fact this is that post.

But I can sense a Spiral coming on (I have been practicing my Spiral-Avoidance techniques), so I’m going to pull up before this thing’s event horizon drags me beyond graceful recovery.


I just saw Boredom. It was an awkward couple of moments. This guy follows me around, waiting for me to stop for a moment to have a breath from Work and Worry. Tap, tap on the shoulder – it’s Boredom.

Boredom takes breaks too, now and then, don’t get me wrong. But they’re rare, I think.

Usually I relax by doing something different than the things that un-relax me – writing (case in point), walking, sleeping, reading. All things I enjoy, in part for their own sake, and in part because without any of them to fill the place of Work and Worry, I might have to talk to Boredom, and he’s, well … not boring himself exactly, he just makes the room uncomfortable, or something. Bit of a downer, but nobody can quite say why.

What do you do when Boredom shows up at the party? You can’t invite him anywhere, he’s not into doing anything you’ll end up enjoying, because he brings himself wherever he goes. He only likes talking about boring things. We all know these things, and try not to accidentally make eye contact, because one thing Boredom does like to do, is make eye contact with you. Not do anything really – just look at you, hoping you’ll look back, like he’s looking into a mirror.

And so you open your blog, and you have all of this energy (probably a combo of caffeine and sugar and anxiety and hope, some of which are my best buds), and you start typey-typing all heads-down-like in the hope Boredom will eventually get bored (there’s your mistake) and wander off.

But no, he just sits down uncomfortably close to you, vaguely interested in what you’re doing, but mostly interested in where you’ll look when you stop doing it.

I’m not even sure if he blinks. I try not to imagine the answer.

đŸ™‚

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