I am tired of the temperature which, despite promising to cool off, keeps sneaking back into the 30s. I'm tired of Fahrenheit, so I have converted to metric.
That's a funny story. Back in March, my car battery died and when I had it replaced, the thermometer in my car was reading metric rather than Fahrenheit. I decided to keep it that way so I could learn to tell the temperature in Celsius. And now I have.
That's how bored I have become. I hate using that word, bored. I know better. History has taught me. I can't speak for you, but if I so much as mention that I am bored, fate shows up and hands me trouble. A peace offering. A spiteful and mean peace offering. If I say I am bored on a Wednesday, chances are that I'm going to wake up hungover beside the corpse of my girlfriend's sister-like best friend and a hollowed out Bible full of heroin by Thursday morning. And Thursday morning, I don't have to remind you, is a work day. And so work sucks all that day and why? Just because I got bored.
I'm older now however and hopefully wiser. I have different tricks to escape from a rut, tiny little changes in habit meant to jar the system back to a state of awakening. Right now, I'm trying to walk slow.
It works like this: I am walking across the grounds of the Cathedral, going from one building to another for whatever purpose. I notice how I'm walking, the speed of it, and I slow it down, trying to keep a natural rhythm, just slow. It is a weird sensation. You start counting steps. Your nerve endings start to complain. You feel self-conscious, which is strange because you're not walking cartoonishly slow. You just slowed down.
I can't say that it's a pleasant sensation, slowing down, but something does happen, both physically and mentally. It is a little like being on drugs and knowing that you're fucked up and wondering, but not knowing, if anyone else knows you're fucked up. I can't say that it's working to fix my boredom. Not yet anyway.
