Boredom
the adult version
I’m so fucking bored yet have so much to do.
But do I? Sometimes I wonder if my to-do list is self-imposed or truly mandatory. Probably a bit of both. I’ve had Amazon returns in the back of my car for about three weeks, if not longer. I could hop in the car and drive 10 minutes to UPS to drop one off… and then 15 minutes to Whole Foods to drop the other off… That really pisses me off… Errands. And returns. And returns in two different locations.
I think it started when I was a kid and had to run errands with my mom. I hated it. I’m not sure why I hated it so much, but I really, really did. It was literally the most boring thing on the planet and I just had to sit there and tolerate it. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but it still drove me nuts. My mom was also a talker and my dad was (is?) famous so it was never easy getting in and out of places quickly. We also had to always be on our best behavior because… impressions.
So, that’s probably why I hated running errands and I still do to this day… although now I can run them at my own pace and don’t get stopped for a handshake… it all still sits in my body, this dread.
It mattered a lot to my mom what people thought of us, but not as individuals. We were a reflection … maybe even an extension … of her. So, we played our roles, especially in public. We were the kids with the famous football player dad and the beauty pageant mom. My siblings and I presented like dolls - perfectly dressed (in clothes my mom made for us, stemming from her time in fashion, of course), hair not just brushed but styled, and polite smiles on all of our faces as we were out and about.
The hair… I had a short bob cut with bangs starting at age 5. My hair is naturally wavy, so to get the style just right, my mom gave me a proper blowout every morning. I remember being so small, I had to sit on the countertop with my feet in the sink as she curled it under with a round brush. Sometimes the heat would burn my scalp and I’d flinch… pulling away quickly and hoping it wouldn’t happen again… but it would.
By the time I was in third grade, this maintenance was getting too difficult, especially because my younger sister needed styling too, so we did the only “natural thing” - my mom took us to the hair salon for perms. I remember my eyes stinging from the fumes as I sat (bored yet again) under the hair dryer. For a few years, I traded the hair dryer for gobs of gel and a lot of scrunching.
It’s all pretty wild to think about now but also seemed completely normal at the time. To this day, I struggle with allowing my hair to air dry naturally or leave the house with my hair wet and un-styled. Maybe that’s why I stopped coloring it. My dad’s side of the family all began graying in their 30’s… as did I. During the pandemic, I decided to stop coloring it to see how gray I really was… and I’m really fucking gray.
My kids didn’t like my gray hair for a long time. I’m 41 and they thought the gray made me look even older… it probably does. I get a lot of compliments (I guess it’s a nice gray) but honestly I’m doing it more out of convenience than style. Maybe I’m also doing it as some strange form of hair rebellion.
My mom always insisted that gray hairs grow in wire-y and were not desired. She still colors her hair religiously to this very day. Recently, she asked me if she could touch my hair… and she was openly surprised by how soft it was. I knew she wasn’t expecting that.
Sometimes I think about coloring my hair back to the deep brown I so often miss, but then I remember I’ll have to not only do it once but every five weeks for eternity… and I lose my motivation. Which brings me back to the rest of my to-do list. I’m probably better off using the time to fold the heaps of laundry or reorganize the mudroom for the billionth time. But those are all boring and I’m sick of being bored.