Chairwoman of the bored

I am bored.

If one of my kids said that to me, I would go through them like a dose of salts. When my DH says it, I give him a quasi-ticking off too. I am never bored, say I, up there on my lofty steed – there is always something to do, something new to learn, a book to be read. Never any need to be bored.

But I am.

I am bored.

I am not doing anything. I am boring myself with my own inertia.

I want so much to do something. Anything. Yet my body is weak and my mind is feeble and at a very basic level all that I really need right now is to be occupied without too much input from myself. Try that when the Broadband is acting up.

I really want to be gainfully employed and I did announce this morning that today was the day that I was taking back my life. I managed two loads of laundry and a rather odd attempt at a lunch (Chilli, but made with Chickpeas, don’t ask – it’s better that way.)

It was  a little surprising to me that I felt so weak and wobbly when I tried to exert myself. I don’t know why I should be surprised when I have eaten so little in recent days. I lack fuel. I am enjoying watching the scales though, that has been entertaining.

Reading or any other form of concentration seems to be ruled out for now.  I have no interest in my knitting. I cannot bake.

Oh, damn it, take me to bed and feed me chocolate. Wake me up when it is all over.

No. That’s no good is it. I need to give myself a good shake, a sound telling-off and just push at that inertia until I make headway.

Maybe I could tackle some mess…

Seen the state of my desk? This pic is what happens when you  kind of want to share the state of the mess but not actually allow folks to see the muck. I took it for the F-word challenge: Farrago. I call it Deskfarrago. I am assuming that the deployment of such a dreadful pun is an indicator that I am actually feeling a little better today.

Yes, tackling the mess is probably A Plan. I might feel more like engaging in useful tasks if I had a space in which to work. It’s amazing how much mess can accrue over two weeks of vegetating in front of the iPlayer. That’s a lot of Poldark. Actually, I am enjoying that other thing more, the one where they recently killed off Julian Rhind-Tutt. What do you call it, begins with a B… oh, how I wish that my brain would function again!

It is also a lot of Masterchef. I am a little annoyed that Broadband is in such a state that I cannot make a start on watching Finals week.

What? The mess? oh, well, you know, stalling tactics… I promise, I shall start to potter on at it. Any moment now.

Got any chocolate?

Oh, my goodness, I have just been bearded in my den by an electoral candidate. You’d think we would be safe on a small island, but no.

I was about to hide myself from view… but he let himself in.

It surprised me at just how strong the wave of antipathy that swept over me actually was. Nothing personal. I don’t know this man from Adam. I just have a deep-seated loathing of politicians and a learned mistrust of the same. I certainly do not wish to entertain one in my own home (though might rethink that policy should Charlie Kennedy call round with a bottle.)  I think it a good job that he did not arrive yesterday when I was in the middle of writing my ill-fated rant. Poor chap would have caught it right in the neck, I think. As it was I just forced myself to be polite from a petrified position, with all my instincts screaming “Get out of my space!”

It is the same reaction that I get to Jehovah’s Witnesses, except they don’t receive the  social nicety of hypocritical politeness.

OK. The Desk.

Yes?