Our children were bored today. You can tell when they’re bored, because instead of just destroying one small corner of the house, they go ahead and level the whole thing, unleashing what could only be described as a literal dirty bomb. Apparently the only thing that can relieve the sort of soul-deadening malaise they experience when Mommy and Daddy have to stop entertaining them for ten minutes is to drag out every single thing they’ve ever owned, inspect it, find it lacking, and discard it as far away from its original storage space as possible.
It would be easy for me to say that I never get bored– how can I, after all, when the children so thoughtfully provide me with so much cleaning to take care of?– and to be honest, I feel like at its heart, that’s true. When I’m not working, I’m taking care of the girls, or grabbing the rare adult conversation with my husband, or getting ready for the next day. I’ve added blogging and learning Spanish into the mix, so one would think I wouldn’t have a second to spare on being bored.
And I don’t, really, and yet somehow I’ve found a way to allow myself to get sucked into my phone, Tron-style, for hours every night for the past couple of weeks. It comes at the expense of sleep, of catching up on shows on which I’m woefully behind (NO ONE SPOIL IF IT TURNS OUT OJ KILLED NICOLE!), of reading and cross-stitching and sometimes, even those aforementioned rare and wonderful adult conversations. It’s like I spend so long every day in the “on” position that I’ve come to need that phone time to wind down.
But it doesn’t really count as winding down if you stay up until 2 am doing it.
I think I’ve somehow become on of those people that everyone hates– the phone addict. And I’m not even using it to do anything cool, like Instagram the Frosted Mini-Wheats I’ve eaten for dinner for the last week straight since Ben’s been out of town. It’s just an endless cycles between Facebook, Buzzfeed, Best Fiends (I am appalled at how many times I have mentioned Best Fiends on this blog, tbh) and, dorkily, Wikipedia, which I generally use to prove people wrong when I do manage to have a conversation with someone over the age of five.
So tonight, I’m going to start yet another new project– because honestly, I let the whole drinking water project just completely deteriorate, and I’m not getting all of my moisture from Oreo middles. The project itself is deceptively simple– stop looking at my damn phone. But I think it’s going to be a lot harder than it sounds, which is embarrassing to admit. I’ve already moved my phone charger to the other side of my bedroom, so I won’t be able to gaze lovingly at Buzzfeed’s “19 Pictures That Only Make Sense if You’re a Professional Skateboarder With Only One Leg” article, which I will read while scratching my head and saying NONE OF THESE PICTURES MAKE ANY SENSE! When I get home, my phone will just stay in my purse, which will also solve the age-old problem of never knowing where my fucking phone is.
How will I fill the hours that the phone leaves behind? Hopefully with sleep, honestly. Some good conversation, a new book. I’ll be woefully behind on the world of random lists and pictures of celebrities that look like animals (I’m looking at you, otter Benedict Cumberbatch). But I do know one thing– I’ll never be bored.