…We all knew this would happen.

Last night, and for the past several nights, I’ve felt a particular sense of ennui that’s common at the tail-end of summer. I’ve done all the fun things for three months, and because I’ve done so much of them, they don’t seem like fun anymore. I’m itching to be in charge of something again. I’m dying for some responsibility.

So at nights, when it’s too dark to go out by myself but Jeremy has to finish up his web clients, I become a couch potato… but we don’t have a couch so I am a bed potato. Nothing’s worse than being a bed potato. Self-loathing at its pique.

  It’s the kind of lethargy that is so pervasive that it’s only cure is to push the very limits of my own personal boredom. This is attained by acting like a petulant child. 

Jeremy started to recognize my sighs and restless leg syndrome creeping a notch last night and true to his “I’m a boy, must solve my girl’s problems” can-do attitude, he started making suggestions.

“Why don’t you read your book? Or play Harry Potter Lego Wii? Or google the publishing process? Or write your book? Or…”

I am not going to do all those fun things. I already did so much of those fun things that they are no longer fun. Would you like to know what I am going to do about being bored?

Fortunately, clever husband put me to sleep after a good whine, after which everything felt better. And then he found me a live puppy camera, because I’m never too bored for puppies.

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