Boredom is a state of mind
Calvin was fussing today.
We have a routine going strong for the weekends. It basically boils down to: do something useful around the house. Domesticity is a way of life - the ONLY life for us, lately. We're so busy with work and school and life's details that a lot of things have gotten out of hand. Marie is a busy busy teenager, so there's always the kitchen to be done. The garage is still an ongoing project. Laundry seems to have quadrupled itself - our bedroom has been declared a disaster area. We actually have to hire someone to do a one-time cleanup of the front yard, it's gotten so ahead of us. So, nothing that could actually be called "fun" or "exciting" going on around here (which, in my experience, is a mostly good thing - excitement usually = angst).
Calvin doesn't do well with boredom (at. all.), and routines feel too confining to him. He wants to be living the high life, with adventure around every corner. "Something" "fun" planned for every weekend (with me as the Event Coordinator). Instead, the most adventurous we've been lately is to meet friends for drinks. Oh, and last weekend's madcap mayhem. A free spirit, is my boy. He feels like he's settled down to a "grown-up routine" too soon in life. Pretty soon he'll be 80, rocking away on his front porch, full of regrets and "shoulda-coulda-woulda's".
I do think, though, that at least a little bit of his mood stemmed from me saying "no" to his idea of trading in his motorcycle to defer some of the cost to buy three quads. I simply DO NOT want another vehicular monthly payment until we pay off the truck. The Money Mistress has spoken. I hate having to be the bad guy. My voice of reason is louder than his voice of want, though. We all fill the roles that we have the capability for, I suppose.
The thing that sets our personalities at odds the most, I think, is the fact that I simply do not get bored. I enjoy "down time". I like having nowhere to go and nothing to do. I like spending the entire weekend pottering around the house. If I don't feel like reading, I write. If I don't feel like writing, I surf the net. If I don't feel like surfing the net, I watch TV. If I don't feel like watching TV, I cook. If I don't feel like cooking, I clean.
There's the dogs to toss a ball around with, and the hot tub to soak in. There's the digital camera and photo printer to play with. There's the pool table to putz around with, and the cat to torture. There are mix CD's to be made. And! Because of a recent purchase (read: today), there are papers to shred!
Can't have quads? Let's get a shredder! At least we bought something.
So, I have little understanding for Calvin's "I'm bored" litany. I think it actually pisses him off that I don't get bored. Misery loves company, after all. When I ask him what he wants to do, he says, "I don't know." I learned a long time ago to let him just thrash it out for himself, and go about my own business until he comes up with something for us to do together. And then he doesn't come up with anything, and takes a nap. A couple of hours later he wakes up with rumpled hair and a need to torture me.
Poke, tickle. Pinch, noogie noogie. Wet willie. Poke, squeeze. Chase! Knees and elbows! Tickle, pinch. Lick.
Ew.
Back to the topic at hand. Routines, rather than feeling confining, are actually comforting to me. Life at my grandmother's was very routine oriented. Right down to which chore got done which day of the week, and what time we had meals. So I fall into them rather naturally.
Since I've been on a 4/10 work schedule, I've fallen into the routine of getting prepared for work on the night before. Make my lunch, get together my vitamins, put the coffee together and set it on the timer, gather my laptop and accoutrements, set my bag and keys out by the pub table, get some clothes together. Then in the morning it's coffee for 20 minutes (while simultaneously tolerating the morning news program in all its hyper glory), followed by showering and dressing, feed the cat, put the dogs out with some water and a treat each, and I'm in the truck by 6:55.
At the office, I dock my laptop, take my breakfast out of my lunch bag, grab my water cup and get some ice while dropping my lunch off in the fridge, swing by the cafeteria to get a straw and a spoon, go back toward my desk and pause at the water cooler to fill up my cup, and settle back at my desk with my breakfast and my e-mail. And the time is now 7:20 a.m.
After work, I go home, get the mail, get comfy, figure out dinner, and sit in front of the TV. The laptop is usually on (hark!) my lap. I do my homework, hang out at TUS, and think about maybe but probably not working out. Then about a half-hour before bed time (usually 10:00), I start in on the stuff-gathering for the next day.
Every day. Seriously. And I take some kind of weird pleasure in it. It's a rhythm. Like jumping into a twirling pair of ropes, chanting away as Ms. Suzie's Steamboat meets its demise. Like being so familiar with a twisting stretch of road that you just drive through it like you're on rails. Like not being able to play the piano, but getting down Heart and Soul well enough to play the duet.
I like my life. It's not hard to make me happy. It's not hard to be happy. I wish that Calvin was able to find this kind of comfort in the routine of our lives.
But, he doesn't. His needs are different than my own. Handily enough, I also enjoy being adventurous, as a foil to my measured life. So perhaps I need to work "outing planning" into the routine.
And the gym. Which is harder to work in than homework.
We have a routine going strong for the weekends. It basically boils down to: do something useful around the house. Domesticity is a way of life - the ONLY life for us, lately. We're so busy with work and school and life's details that a lot of things have gotten out of hand. Marie is a busy busy teenager, so there's always the kitchen to be done. The garage is still an ongoing project. Laundry seems to have quadrupled itself - our bedroom has been declared a disaster area. We actually have to hire someone to do a one-time cleanup of the front yard, it's gotten so ahead of us. So, nothing that could actually be called "fun" or "exciting" going on around here (which, in my experience, is a mostly good thing - excitement usually = angst).
Calvin doesn't do well with boredom (at. all.), and routines feel too confining to him. He wants to be living the high life, with adventure around every corner. "Something" "fun" planned for every weekend (with me as the Event Coordinator). Instead, the most adventurous we've been lately is to meet friends for drinks. Oh, and last weekend's madcap mayhem. A free spirit, is my boy. He feels like he's settled down to a "grown-up routine" too soon in life. Pretty soon he'll be 80, rocking away on his front porch, full of regrets and "shoulda-coulda-woulda's".
I do think, though, that at least a little bit of his mood stemmed from me saying "no" to his idea of trading in his motorcycle to defer some of the cost to buy three quads. I simply DO NOT want another vehicular monthly payment until we pay off the truck. The Money Mistress has spoken. I hate having to be the bad guy. My voice of reason is louder than his voice of want, though. We all fill the roles that we have the capability for, I suppose.
The thing that sets our personalities at odds the most, I think, is the fact that I simply do not get bored. I enjoy "down time". I like having nowhere to go and nothing to do. I like spending the entire weekend pottering around the house. If I don't feel like reading, I write. If I don't feel like writing, I surf the net. If I don't feel like surfing the net, I watch TV. If I don't feel like watching TV, I cook. If I don't feel like cooking, I clean.
There's the dogs to toss a ball around with, and the hot tub to soak in. There's the digital camera and photo printer to play with. There's the pool table to putz around with, and the cat to torture. There are mix CD's to be made. And! Because of a recent purchase (read: today), there are papers to shred!
Can't have quads? Let's get a shredder! At least we bought something.
So, I have little understanding for Calvin's "I'm bored" litany. I think it actually pisses him off that I don't get bored. Misery loves company, after all. When I ask him what he wants to do, he says, "I don't know." I learned a long time ago to let him just thrash it out for himself, and go about my own business until he comes up with something for us to do together. And then he doesn't come up with anything, and takes a nap. A couple of hours later he wakes up with rumpled hair and a need to torture me.
Poke, tickle. Pinch, noogie noogie. Wet willie. Poke, squeeze. Chase! Knees and elbows! Tickle, pinch. Lick.
Ew.
Back to the topic at hand. Routines, rather than feeling confining, are actually comforting to me. Life at my grandmother's was very routine oriented. Right down to which chore got done which day of the week, and what time we had meals. So I fall into them rather naturally.
Since I've been on a 4/10 work schedule, I've fallen into the routine of getting prepared for work on the night before. Make my lunch, get together my vitamins, put the coffee together and set it on the timer, gather my laptop and accoutrements, set my bag and keys out by the pub table, get some clothes together. Then in the morning it's coffee for 20 minutes (while simultaneously tolerating the morning news program in all its hyper glory), followed by showering and dressing, feed the cat, put the dogs out with some water and a treat each, and I'm in the truck by 6:55.
At the office, I dock my laptop, take my breakfast out of my lunch bag, grab my water cup and get some ice while dropping my lunch off in the fridge, swing by the cafeteria to get a straw and a spoon, go back toward my desk and pause at the water cooler to fill up my cup, and settle back at my desk with my breakfast and my e-mail. And the time is now 7:20 a.m.
After work, I go home, get the mail, get comfy, figure out dinner, and sit in front of the TV. The laptop is usually on (hark!) my lap. I do my homework, hang out at TUS, and think about maybe but probably not working out. Then about a half-hour before bed time (usually 10:00), I start in on the stuff-gathering for the next day.
Every day. Seriously. And I take some kind of weird pleasure in it. It's a rhythm. Like jumping into a twirling pair of ropes, chanting away as Ms. Suzie's Steamboat meets its demise. Like being so familiar with a twisting stretch of road that you just drive through it like you're on rails. Like not being able to play the piano, but getting down Heart and Soul well enough to play the duet.
I like my life. It's not hard to make me happy. It's not hard to be happy. I wish that Calvin was able to find this kind of comfort in the routine of our lives.
But, he doesn't. His needs are different than my own. Handily enough, I also enjoy being adventurous, as a foil to my measured life. So perhaps I need to work "outing planning" into the routine.
And the gym. Which is harder to work in than homework.
I do occasionally get bored too, but I can usually amuse myself - in much the same ways as you: reading, writing, tv, movies, the web, chatting on the phone...
I really feel bad for people who have trouble keeping themselves amused :)
Posted by
Amanda |
7:51 AM
I never get bored either, but my husband tends to get bored easily.. yet he thinks nothing of sitting around watching TV for hours. men. impossible to figure out, but we love them. lol
Posted by
Maryanne |
1:02 PM
My husband and I deal with the same thing, only he's the one with the routine and I am the "free spirit". I really wish I were more like him and that he was a bit more like me, then perhaps we would meet somewhere in the middle! I've also lived in AZ for 5 years and I love this time of year when the citrus trees start giving off their sweet aroma. I just love that smell!
Posted by
Jen |
10:55 PM