novitious
“Sometimes, when I have a lot of ideas and I want to do a lot of things, or when I’m traveling, I lose energy and I can’t do as many things as I want. So I have to plan days when I’m not doing anything. I find that a bit boring, but it’s necessary.”
Dear Simone,
I've been bored and fatigued the last few days.
That is not an exciting sentence to open with. Yet here we are.
Some say that boredom is a result of a lackluster mind.
I disagree.
I think boredom can result from indifference or lethargy from the environment.
I feel blurry. Like my contact has moved one millimeter to the left.
My body aches.
My hair feels filthy.
I've no appetite for movement or food.
Or sex.
Or song.
Or story.
I want to recline on the carpet and stare out the window, but the rug is flat and draws the cold from the floor.
And the window is small and looks out at other white buildings.
Everything is white here-- or beige-- and I'm sick of that too!
I crave color and connection.
Winter is bland as gum.
The hard candy you've been sucking for minutes feels like centuries, but you cannot bite it for fear of losing a tooth,
I ate a lot of licorice as a kid. I preferred soft treats. Icecream. Fudge. Cookie dough.
Does this make me soft as a person?
Every morning I make the same thing for breakfast. Oatmeal with dates, bananas, oat milk, and a bit of honey. I bought goji berries and flax seeds and considered this a great accomplishment of creativity.
Part of me wants to move, to physically shift my living space to shake things up energetically.
This is my process, as neat as my routine.
I skipped my dance class this morning to sleep in and eat a banana with almond butter while I read promotional emails.
I'm only allowing myself one cup of coffee daily, so it was a most significant moment when I sat down with my black cup at the white desk.
I didn't write. I didn't read. I sipped that espresso real slow and listened to my neighbors shower and eat breakfast. I like the jangle of the keys in the door as they come and go. I enter the apartment with a code. I often get it wrong though I've been living in this studio for six weeks.
How long does it take to learn something new, Simone?
I am learning how to refine and the effort is costing me who I was. A new woman will be cleaved from this endeavor by the year's end. It is a long labor to uninstall old habits.
Winter is revealed in the symptoms of those around me. Many are sniffly and sick. I feel hard and angular as the trees stripped of their leaves and blossoms.
I've been eating and wearing the same thing for weeks and my only reason is that I don't care.
I cannot muster the courage to create.
Because it does take boldness to inform something from what isn't already, part of my exhaustion is from educating myself in this new environment. And communicating the differences to those around me. I feel like I am constantly justifying my actions. Is this my insecurity or energetic bullying? I feel it is more the latter.
When I was a kid, my dad brought home a balloon blower. It was small and rectangular with a metal snout and wide handle. There was no special occasion; writing this, I wonder what prompted him to gift it to my sisters and me.
Balloons became a regular event. We would troop to the dollar store daily and purchase a small bag of plastic balloons. We preferred the rainbow-colored collection, though, on dour days, we'd be left with one color, usually black or brown.
No one wants a brown balloon.
My stomach feels like one of those balloons- tight to burst and taunt. I am a string that's been pulled too close. I've shortened it in so many ways. The cold makes me hard. The ants crawling about the kitchen are my only companion. I find them in the cupboards. I find them on the shelves. I find them in the sink and underneath the dishes on the drying rack.
While writing, I discovered two on my neck.
While reading, I discovered one on my forehead.
While brushing my teeth, I discovered one on my wrist.
Ants are tenacious creatures, capable of great strength and endurance for their small size.
It is said that if ants come to you, it is a sign to be patient and get organized.
When I googled 'ant symbolism,' I discovered that ants hear through their keen sensitivity to vibrations. Ants find their way by leaving a scented trail behind. They signify following your senses and intuition, letting your body do its job.
My gut is out of sorts and I purchased a probiotic to ease my angst. Overthinking is a malady and my guts are knotted like the end of a kite to a tree. I need to feel for the roots before I climb to untie the knots.
I feel as if I have no roots.
Simone, you say the soul's greatest need is to be rooted.
How many people feel as I do?
Without community or property, what provides people with a sense of belonging? Do we need to belong somewhere or to someone?
My relationships feel nebulous. I have fewer and fewer confidants, and the loved ones I hold dear to me are outside my current time zone. Why does time play such a vital role in so many circumstances? Have I given it this power, or is it a construct and I am merely following a rote detail that could be just as quickly undone?
I want everyone to like me. I want everyone to be friends. A sister once told me that I add emotion to events that do not require sentimental feedback.
As kids, we'd blow up those rainbow balloons and fill our bedrooms with inflated plastic ribbons. The balloon machine would squeal and we'd shriek over it. My mother never fussed about the noise.
Sometimes, we'd fill the balloon until it burst into our hands. We'd press the mouth to the pipe and watch it grow wider and wider, waiting for the moment it would pop. Never knowing when the moment would arrive, the sound of something ripping open.
It was too easy to ruin something. It was too much fun to keep the cold air blowing. We liked the machine's vibration as we watched it do its work. We didn't mind clamoring under beds and couches, searching for the small bits of plastic before my baby sister could put it in her mouth.
Eventually, my mother moved us outdoors to the garage with the balloon blower and we'd spend hours sitting on the pavement watching the balloons grow and burst.
I've craved calamity since I was a child, and I had my sisters there with me to absorb the tension.
There is no one beside me now and I have become the balloon.
Waiting for an explosion to set me free.
Photo source.
