Interrupted Boredom

Today, the same-ness of my situation became unbearable.

The same smell of chlorine in my hair, the same sound of a million bickering cousins, the same heavy stickiness on my face of eyeliner that wasn't mine, the same taste of Mexican food that I secretly hated, and so forth.

Luckily, I encountered a grandmotherly force that prodded through my melancholy stubborness.

Instead of honoring my pledge to spend the day in morose drudgery, I was forced to give my pride a proverbial kick in the teeth and allow my 21-year-old, electra-pumping, cap-wearing, mouth-farting partner-in-crime of a cousin step in and drag me out of my fog of pure and undiluted hatred for the planet and everyone in it.

In retrospect, a much better decision.

Instead of decaying on a couch alone, I spent the afternoon choking on Vietnamese spring rolls and immersing myself in my first Barnes and Noble of 3+ years. I read a children's book about a pole, written by Steven Colbert, and became fascinated by the creative writing excercizes found in The 3AM Epiphany. I pretended to read a 2013 weekly planner while really eavesdropping on the intense discussion between an extremely overweight latino and a longhaired, gangly 30-year-old, both of whom knew more about drones and motherships than most of us ever will.

Thank you ever so much, cousin. This is why you exist. For those of us with lives so interesting they get annoyingly stupid. Ironically enough, you make them seem boring. So thanks.