Boredom is the Mindkiller
There are bags under my eyes. I think they’re some kind of Gucci knock off cause they seem to suit me, but they’re clearly not elegant Sean Connery style bags.
I haven’t been sleeping well for the last week. I’d hardly call myself a zombie during my waking hours, but I often feel that way. Energy flows right past my consciousness, straight from my stomach to my extremities, my mind going through the motions without noticing. I work, I teach, I talk, I socialize, and it seems normal, but I feel detached and separate. I don’t believe in out of body experiences, but I seem to be having some amazing in-body experiences recently.
It wasn’t strep. That was the good news. The bad news: bacterial infection of the throat and sinuses.
“If you don’t get this taken care of, you’re looking at an ear infection in a couple of days at the very least.”
I haven’t had an ear infection since preschool. I don’t plan to start again now. Amoxycillin, Mucinex, and a homemade nasal spray. I hate when water goes up my nose swimming; I’m not doing it voluntarily. So two out of three ain’t bad.
Mucinex has some outrageous ads. They also have a product that does what it says. It’s perhaps the worst experience I’ve ever had on an over the counter drug. It liquefies me. The mucus turns into a cool green foamy liquid and dribbles straight into my lungs. I noticed the mucinex box said cough on it to. I assumed that meant it prevented coughing instead of causing it.
I’ve been sleeping in shifts. Every 45 minutes my lungs wake me up and tell me it’s my turn on watch. The first few times it was novel, but I wish they’d be more creative, maybe play reveille or something. I stumble out of bed, spit a few times, take a big gulp of water, and glance at the clock. It always feels like I’ve slept for hours, but it’s never that long.
The early mornings are not conducive to catching up on sleep. My alarms rock me out of bed at absurd hours because I need to remain on schedule. If I don’t, I’ll revert to a previous state, though at this point, that may be healthy for a little bit.
Last week, I had my first real days off all winter; doctor’s orders. I marathoned movies. I surfed the internet. I cleaned. I FUCKING CLEANED! What’s wrong with me? I can’t bring myself to rest.
During my summer of unemployment, I couldn’t find motivation to get moving. Now that I’m burning myself down like effigy of Guy Fawkes, I can’t stop. I feel uncomfortable if I do. I feel… bored.
I’m a cog in a machine of my own making. Even when I turn off the power, I can still feel myself spinning, albeit more slowly, as I wind down. I know I’m grinding down the edges, rounding my teeth through friction. I’m sure I’ll break down eventually, but I just keep going for now.
Boredom is not something I’ve ever dealt with well. I’ve gravitated toward games, movies, books, music, drugs, food, sports, writing, and a wide variety of silly hobbies, habits, and activities, all in an effort to fill the time. My mind is an unwinding spring, whipping around at voracious speeds, and unless I find a way to distract it or tire it it out, I’m left lacerating myself mentally ad naseum.
On days when my body isn’t burnt out from a hard days work, my mind isn’t worn from a long day and an early morning, or my soul isn’t busy recuperating from a recent buildup of energy deficit, I simply can’t seem to shut myself down.
Boredom has become my biggest weakness, and until I find a way to deal with it I find that fear of the Spring is constantly eating away at me.