Bin Bags

Just like my insulin sensitivity, my sensitivity to boredom has become resistant. Now that I don't have a career that requires me to spend money to distract myself, I am seeing two fundamental issues.

It's a win that I am living within my means and don't have the craving to distract. On the flip side, my drive to progress or create comes with tides of psychological impotence. I ask, what do I do when I distraction isn't needed anymore?

But fucking hell, I have never felt this bored. I remember as a child on the north-east coast of Scotland, many summer holiday days staring out of the window at grey skies and sideways rain. The boredom was strong back then, but it would roll over me. I'd figure something out, normally involving turning an Action Man into a paratrooper by fashioning a bin bag into a parachute and throwing him off the landing.

In today's hyper-productive world, boredom has become an insipid evil that inspires guilt, shame, and dopamine cravings. Seeing through the latter means at times I sit in a liminal emotional space between acceptance and movement. A state of hover, which needs to be felt and integrated. Momentum will come when ready. I have the bin bags; I just have to let the universe to provide me Action Man.