Gratitude 50

I am grateful for the luxury of boredom.  Let me explain.  Many of the clients I work with complain to me from time to time that they are bored.  Some complain about it constantly.  As respectfully and discreetly as possible, I often reply that if they would simply get more involved in taking care of themselves then they would have no time to feel bored.  If they would learn how to cook, shop for their own food, budget, and clean up after themselves; if they would get into the habit of keeping their places and themselves clean; if they would go outside and walk and visit different places, if at least for fresh air and exercise; if they would find themselves a creative interest or a hobby; if they would show up for social groups and make an effort to meet other people; if they would do volunteer work or even (horrors!) get a job, they would soon find that there aren't enough hours in the day.

Now, of course, these suggestions and ideas aren't going to work equally well for everyone.  Some simply do not do well around the organizational skills needed for shopping and cooking even the most simple meals, especially if they have a lot of anxiety.  Others are so stranded in depression or psychosis that keeping themselves or their environment clean can be a promethean task.  Others simply don't do well socially or have fear and anxiety around being outside much.  There is a lot to be said for taking small, measured steps.

Anyone else who says they're bored have one of two excuses: they are independently wealthy and have servants and slaves to even wipe their own ass for them, or, they are shirkers and procrastinators who simply don't want to take responsibility.  Or both.

Today I run the risk of boredom.  I only worked a little bit this morning with a client with whom I had coffee in far away Marpole.  After our visit, with no further professional obligations to fill, this is what I`ve done so far with my day:

I walked more than a mile to one of my favourite coffee shops where I sheltered for two hours from the cold rain outside and finished a drawing of a Marico Sunbird from Africa:




Isn't he pretty?  And, yes, Spanish-speaking Gentle Reader, Marico is also a rather nasty word in Spanish for homosexual, but really, I haven't asked this bird about his sexual preference, it's none of my business, and it ain't none of yours, either!

Then I walked for another four miles, or so, through the beautiful rich neighbourhoods and tried my best to ignore the BC Liberal Party campaign lawn signs.  Of course this would be a stronghold for that deplorable ruling party since they care only about the wealthy and the well-off and their supporters want to keep all their money, pay as low taxes as possible, and to hell with everyone else.

I bussed the rest of the way home, then bought milk at the local Shoppers.  When I got home I put on classical music, did the day's paperwork for my supervisors, and made cocoa from scratch.  Then I started writing this blogpost. 

I used to spend part of my free afternoons inside a café to do more art.  This has become rather a pricey pastime and generally, I will not go out for coffee more than once a day, now.  I reckon that this way I am saving at least one hundred dollars a month.  Cafes are no longer a refuge anyway.  Very badly parented Creative Class mommies and daddies are now badly raising their own broods of entitled little monsters and their public behaviour is worse than deplorable.  I am sick of enduring screaming little brats in public places and their stupid selfish parents who won't discipline their little best friends forever.  So, I am content with spending the balance of the day in my apartment, enjoying homemade cocoa while continuing to work on my art, here where it is quiet.

I am still drinking cocoa and I'm working on a new drawing. It's called a splendid sunbird:



 I have been home for almost two hours.  I am going to rewrite some more of my novel, do some more art and make dinner.  Then I will probably finish writing this post.  It'll be around six-thirty then. 

I always have something to do.  Almost never do I get to indulge in the luxury of boredom.  If I am lonely I can always think of someone to email or phone, if I feel housebound I will go for a walk.  Later, I will likely play part of a Spanish documentary on YouTube about Medieval Europe.  Then, following my devotional time, get ready for bed and perhaps an hour of reading the last volume of my Spanish translation of Stieg Larrson's gigantic novel, the Millennium series.  Then I will go to sleep.

Just now I have come in from a forty minute walk, largely on the local seawall.  Spending more time at home during the day also necessitates knowing when to go out for fresh air and exercise.  I always feel better after.

For those who still whine and complain about being bored I have two little words of advice: Grow up!  Do you think it might be time to learn how to be an adult?  Maybe get over this mentality that you always have to be entertained?  Maybe learn to take joy and pleasure in healthy and necessary activity?  Too boring, you complain?  Aw, you poor little thing.  I feel so very sorry for you!