Speaking of stories. . .

Do you ever get the feeling that your life would be more interesting if it were told as a story? You know, all the boring parts edited out, interesting parts nicely fore-shadowed, everything coming to  a neat and tidy end?

That’s what I want.

I wish I wasn’t so shallow, because really? That’s like the book-snob version of “why isn’t my life more like the movies?!” wail.

I am, in all honesty, annoyed at how boring and tedious and unexciting my life is. Sometimes we say, “I just wish my life had more direction!” But I think maybe my life does have direction to it. And the sign says, “205 miles till next civilization. Keep walking.” After a billion hours of walking, the sign says, “197 miles till next civilization. Keep walking.” People, I am bored of walking. I get that this is how we get from Point A to Point B, but it would seem something could be done to spice it up. A faithful side-kick, perhaps. Someone in distress who joins your party once you rescue them. An object with strange powers you don’t yet fully understand. A grand secret you’re uncovering. SOMETHING!!

But, no. Get up. Wake up. Eat oatmeal. Feed the duckies corn. Drive to school. Study. Come home. Feel morose because the hamster wheel is boring. Go to bed. Get up. Wake up. (Yes, those ARE two separate things, for Pete’s sake!) Feed the duckies corn. Eat oatmeal. Drive to school. . .

What am I supposed to say? Yays, this week we get to talk about suicide instead of horribly pre-mature babies and grieving parents? Yays, in chemistry, we got to learn about more than molarity–now we’re talking about molaLity. Excitement.

I keep trying to put in hobbies and art and fun things, but somehow it makes me impatient. Yes, yes–but none of this really matters. This isn’t going into my plot line. We’re not advancing the story line, here. So I start counting down days to when the next chapter or plot point should happen. Let’s see. Maybe the next plot point is when I find out what doctorate school I go to. That will probably be in March, maybe. So, until then–I’m just walking. And I’m pretty sure that gets edited out of the final draft, because it’s about as boring to read as it is to plod.

You bring the party with you! That’s what I always say. Usually when someone is complaining about how they don’t like their surrounding. So, yeah, on top of everything else, I feel like a hypocrite. But I can’t figure out how to get the party into this walk. I’m staying up late in protestation of boring-ness. That’s a bad plan, and I know it. But what’s the good plan? Grinding through days seems like such a sad waste, but I’m struggling to find any alternative right now.

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