I am so busy that I'm bored.

I understand that that doesn't make sense in any other forum other than the one currently in my head.

But it is what it is.

And I am what I am.

Bored.

A few months ago, I found myself in the same small bed in the same small bedroom in the same small town that I grew up in, and I thought,

Oh God… What in the hell happened here?

It's raining in Louisiana.

It's always raining here.

Yesterday, the children were told that there was a possibility of  snow.

My eldest came home and shared the news.

He looked at me as a parent would a child who knows no better and reminded me of that conversation that we had several weeks ago in which I somberly informed him that there would be no snow here. I'd only seen three small flakes in my entire childhood, after all.

It's not snowing, of course.

It's raining.

It's always raining here.

And I'm bored.

And I need to get out of here.

Out of this town, out of this skin, out of this little box that breathes my breath back onto me…

Suffocating is only as fun as you make it, you know.

I need to find paragraphs again, I think. And semi-proper punctuation.

Or perhaps I should blog more often-

and abuse…

ellipses…

until…

the paragraphs find me instead.

When I have too much to do and therefore nothing, I do silly things.

Like cutting my own hair.

I obsess over the tiny weirdness-es for a few moments,

Oh God… What in the hell happened here?

And then I shrug.

Because who really cares about my hair anyhow? Hair grows back.

Eventually.

I just have to wait.

In boredom.

There's more to this, I'm sure.

I should find it… or let it find me.

New year's a'coming. I'm resolving to resolve to drink more and eat less.

This boredom would wash down a bit easier then, methinks.

Mehopes.

And I could blame any future incoherent ramblings on the vodka.

As a matter of fact…

Let me make a quick trip to the freezer.

That way you can come back and read this again tomorrow, and we can blame this one on the vodka as well.

Sound good?