There was one phrase which was never uttered in my house growing up. This phrase always caused small explosions and (possibly) pain to whichever of the children forgot themselves and muttered it under their breath. The phrase was, (parents may want to shield their children’s eyes) “I”m bored.” There are two reasons this phrase was never uttered in my house; the first was that my parents simply delighted in trying relieve us of boredom with household chores and the second was that announcing that we were bored was as good as confessing that it was us that left the kitchen a mess, our toys strewn about, and the holes in the hallway floor.
I’m not in any way suggesting that I become destructive when I’m bored, it’s just that after a certain desperate period where I vainly try to fill the endlessly stretching afternoon hours with productive work, I become distracted and start “fiddling” with things that really should be left to professionals. Hasn’t anyone else ever tried to find out where the phrase “like trying to shave a cat” came from?
The reason that I’m bringing this up now of course is that I am once again plagued with boredom. It happens nearly every school year about this time when I suddenly realize that this is the second time this year where I’ll be instructing students on how to use a drawing compass without stabbing themselves in the eye. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do, really, but more that I have zero desire to do any of it.
People with delicate dispositions or morals should be warned of my condition as I’ve discovered over the years that those types of folks don’t really mix well with my boredom. Unfortunately the air raid sirens must’ve failed because this very morning I received in my box my 39th student “psych eval” sheet. Bearing in mind that I am totally unqualified to evaluate the mental state or bathroom preferences of any of my students, it is a mystery to me why anyone would seek my opinion as to Little Ophelia’s mental status. Needless to say, having this eval sheet in my possession in MY current mental state is a recipe for disaster. Either I will totally ignore the request to offer my unqualified opinion (highly likely) or I will become SO bored that I will decide to fill out the sheet in such a way that when folded into thirds renders a picture of Freud smoking a stogie.
In any case, people with heart conditions, pregnant women, senior citizens, Polynesians, and vegans are all strongly advised to avoid asking me what I’m doing today. The answer might shock you into a heart attack, premature labor, stroke, spontaneous chanting, or a burger.