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Wherein I maintain my remarkably demanding pace of once-a-year posting…

9 Jun 2013 (Sun)

There’s a saying I learned from my dad that that goes something like, “If one man calls you a donkey, ignore him. If two men call you a donkey, check for hoof prints. If three men call you a donkey, get a saddle.” (Apparently this is a loose variation on a Yiddish proverb… Which figures, as I don’t believe I’ve ever met a Yiddish proverb I didn’t like.)

So the fact that an increasing number of people are politely mentioning that it appears my work/life balance is about as unbalanced as it gets has been… a little… alarming. Not solely because it’s embarrassing to have other people point out major lifestyle flaws you’ve apparently missed yourself, but also because I had no idea it was so obvious. My schedule is packed to overflowing, and I’d just always assumed that’s enough to make people think I’m managing my personal existence in at least a marginally healthy manner. Except for the part where apparently, despite my attempts to behave otherwise, everything I do feels like a chore. Despite my life being entirely void of downtime, I am painfully bored. Honestly, I think I’ve been bored for over a year. Possibly longer. It’s getting more difficult to remember a time when I wasn’t bored.

SO. FUCKING. BORED.

BORED. SO BORED.

And as it turns out, I’m no longer any good at hiding how fucking bored I am.

There are several different directions this post could go from here… I could write a diatribe about how it’s unrealistic to expect much more than a mediocre life when you’re a person like me living a life like mine (wrote that, deleted it). I could wonder aloud whether or not I have an obligation to work on this so-called “work/life” balance solely because I’m in the kind of socioeconomic circumstances where such a thing even exists in the first place (wrote that — both the “yes I’m obligated” side and the “I’m actually obligated not to” side, deleted them). I could also create a word search puzzle for you where you have to find all sixty occurrences of the word “BORED” in a 5-inch square (I never actually did that one, but I thought about it).

Instead, I’m just going to post this as-is without a conclusion. I’m conclusion-less. I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to do about this, what’s realistic, what’s “healthy,” what’s what-fucking-ever. The only thing I do know is that it is a Sunday in June and I have about two dozen things I could/should do, but the thought of doing any of them makes me want to stab myself in the face.

And I am pretty sure this is the part of life that comes immediately before having an all-out nervous breakdown.

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