Being Bored: Not All It's Cracked Up To Be Since 1992

I never thought I'd say this in my adult life, but I'm bored.

Work is slow, which is both a blessing and a curse, because you have all the time in the world to do things, but not enough financial resources to make them happen (and no, building a fort out of the couch cushions is not an option . Turns out, it takes A LOT of cushions to adequately enclose someone who is nearly 5 months pregnant. Plus, Milo ate the couch cushions last year so they're all holey).

And of course, I could work on the house.
LORD KNOWS there are enough household projects that need to be finished before the kids get here.
But the problem is that every single one of them requires 1) heavy lifting, 2) the use of toxic chemicals, 3) use of the basement (which is currently a HAZMAT ZONE due to the mold), or 4) knowledge of home remodeling. And It's not exactly that I'm scared to attempt to rewire our recessed lighting, but if anyone has ever seen the movie Powder, they'd know what could happen to the twins if I electrocute myself, and I'm not gonna lie, it'd be difficult for me to love my kids if they were albinos. Where's their hair?!? THEY HAVE NO HAIR!!!!!!

And my hobbies? Turns out they're also off limits. There will be no horseback riding, mountain biking, hiking, jogging, rugby tournaments, or woman-on-woman mud wrestling for this preggo. I can't even take a decent walk, due to the hot-wet-washcloth-pressed-against-your-face weather known as summer in New Jersey (as if you needed ANOTHER reason why this state sucks. Come to NJ! If our winters don't depress you to the point of suicide, our summers will finish the job!).

And what am I left with? Reading. Sweeping. Doing the dishes and washing the dogs (although if I give them one more bath, they'll look like those creepy hairless cats, and I'll have to stop loving them too, along with my albino freak children). Sleeping is always an option, although I think I've crossed that fine line where you're asleep for more of the day than you're awake. And yes, I could just say Fuck It and watch TV all day, but then there's that darn Adult Guilt. Yanno what I'm talking about?

Adult Guilt: The inability to enjoy ANYTHING construed as relaxing or having fun, because you have responsibilities that you should be addressing, and if you're not addressing them, you're a shitty person and you're going to burn in hell for. ev. er.

So I'm sitting here, full of adult guilt, lacking in money, and physically restrained due to pregnancy. In essence, I'm bored. It's a feeling I haven't truly experienced since the summer of 1992, when my daily activities used to include 1) walking to the 7-11 to get a slurpee, 2) retreating to my girlfriends' rooms to read Seventeen magazine, and 3) begging my parents to let me have ANOTHER sleepover.

When I had a 9-5 corporate gig, I used to DREAM of being bored. I couldn't imagine what it felt like to be home, with very little to do, and the whole day at your disposal. But as they say, the grass is always greener on the other side of the cubicle, or something like that.

Now...I'm bored. And gassy. And I kind of look like a blimp.
I have tons of adult guilt, and no outlet to relieve my self-loathing for being unable to sand the cabinets or empty the guest-bedroom-soon-to-be-nursery.

Lesson of the day?

Boredom is for the young.
Guilt is for the old.
And pregnancy, although wonderful and magical and extremely effective at producing offspring, is kind of for the birds.

(Does anybody have all the "My So-Called Life" episodes?)