Now I’m Laughing at My “Boredom”

And everything else. I guess.

Because what else is there for me to do?

I’m off all social media. Although once upon a forever ago I made an instagram for each of my cats. I left those alive. This way I can still log in and see other pet accounts and generally nice, wholesome things - like my favorite independent bookstore’s upcoming events which are often promoted there.

Life without social media feels simpler. Maybe not more pure, but its absence gave my brain a nice sort of vanilla sugar exfoliating scrub. I don’t want to be in the other people’s heads anymore. I’d almost rather they forget me too.

Why? Because I think I am sick of performing. Performing my “non-performances”. See, I pride myself on authenticity, but even that was carefully curated/selective. I mean… as well it should be. No one needs a pure trauma dump, or worse - blathering complaints or empty sweetness. But being and meaning nothing to inconsequential people is also a tantalizingly underrated option.

I used to always believe that my words should shine a little and mean something. But what? And more importantly - why?

What was the point? Maybe there was none. Chalk it up to wasted time, wasted life, and a waste of myself.

Substack is a little more substantive but I still see it as a social media site. Not a place to seriously invest in. Material wise or time wise.

Hopefully I will eventually eat (as a result of) my words again. As in…. sell some of my writing. But not on Substack. I don’t want to eat that way. Okay?

I’m bored now so I’ve decided to laugh at my own jokes.

Until next time.