Megsie

I have a problem: I have become excruciatingly boring. Perhaps I always was. After all, I’ve never spent much time cultivating this image. I find that doing simple things like not dressing according to the latest trends, or not being up on the latest gossip, or just being a generally shy and reclusive person tends to make me pretty dull without any real effort on my part to further that image.

My friend James called me today and tried to convince me to “get all dolled up and hit the town” (his words) because he thinks I’m too boring. I have no friends, so instead of “hitting the town” with my ubiquitous, unattached, lusty, twenty-something peers I’m spending a quiet evening out with my middle-aged aunt and uncle and my thirteen-year-old cousin. Perhaps the most appalling part of this is that I’M ACTUALLY ENJOYING MYSELF. Yes, that is the true mark of a boring person.

I kind of thought that if I moved I would automatically become more daring. Ooh, look at me! I moved out of State! I don’t have a job! I’m living dangerously! But the sad reality is that I have very quickly settled into a very dull routine: I spend my days filling out endless applications, dropping off said applications, and wasting my time online. In the evening, I play with my cat, read or watch a movie, go to bed at a fairly reasonable hour (10-11), and get up and do it all over again. I have to force myself to explore different driving routes, not because I’m scared of getting lost, but because in three weeks I’ve become comfortable with the status quo.

As I have mentioned before (here) I am a naturally lazy creature. Yesterday I put on makeup for the first time since I’ve moved (including mascara) and felt that the effort was Herculean enough that it should have merited some sort of public recognition. Like, when my aunt and cousins and I went out to Red Robin in the evening, the staff really ought to have serenaded me with a rollicking and painfully off-key rendition of “I’m Too Sexy”. Instead, they kept singing “Happy Birthday” to all the tables around us, and the MOTHERFUCKING KIDS KEPT POPPING THE MOTHERFUCKING BALLOONS. But I digress. The point is that I consider the day to be a success if I am showered and clothed in something other than sweatpants or unwashed jeans. Makeup is entirely superfluous.

I began this lengthy defense of my boring nature by stating that I have a problem. I have a lot of problems, and really this is probably the one of least import (namely because it prevents my other problems from becoming too excessive), but it’s also a problem I can do something about. As I said, I don’t really care if I’m perceived as being boring, but I DO care if I’m becoming apathetic, or content with mediocrity. I didn’t relocate just to continue falling into the same rut.

I need to shake things up. Any suggestions? (Preferably nothing self-destructive, as I’ve already invested a great deal of energy into things of that nature).