Mundane stuff. For those of us with intellectual leanings, the drudgery of life is burdensome. Cook. Eat. Wash the dishes. Shower. Brush your teeth. Floss. Wash clothes. Get dressed. Go to work. (Oh, wait, that's not drugery - that's FUN!) Clean the house. CLEAN THE HOUSE?????? Feed the animals. Mow the grass. Gas the car. Spray the ants. And on and on and on... If I was a real intellectual, I'd have enough money to hire someone to do most of that stuff for me. So I must not be. As a matter of fact, I'm not even a semi-intellectual; I'm just a regular guy that hates to work. For a living, around the house, anywhere, anytime. Fun, however, motivates me. Like, this is FUN! Playing on the computer. My job is fun, not work. If it was work I couldn't do it. No, it's gotta be FUN! Actually, paying bills should be fun. I do it on the computer. It involves math and careful reasoning. Who can I put off this month? So, why isn't it fun? Too much month at the end of the money, as the songwriter put it. It's just discouraging, is all. The intense calculations (exactly when are we going to be bankrupt?) stifle creative thinking. Procrastination reigns. If I put it off, will it go away? I just keep hoping... Cleaning house can give one a great sense of satisfaction. It would be better if the cats and Doggie appreciated it more, though. They will move when the vacuum gets near them; they then immediatly move back to the clean parts and proceed to shed. I really think that they do it on purpose, to show us the futility of our actions. How can you tell when a cat's laughing at you? It's looking at you... Supposedly, cleaning one room a day will keep your house perpetually clean. I've tried that, only I clean one a week. It doesn't work. There's also a theory that every time that you go from one room to another, you should pick up something and carry it with you, hopefully something that belongs in the destination room. The major problem with this is that frequently I forget where I'm going and why. Then, if I got up and had a cup in my hand, I'd have to see if it was full or empty. If it was empty, I need to go to the kitchen and fill it up. If it's full, I need to go sit down. Or maybe if it's empty, I'm done drinking coffee (unlikely) and I'm going to put it in the dishwasher. Or if it's full I might be taking it to Karen. And if it's half-full? Is it hot or cold? Is it my cup, or Karens? More choices. But what if I find myself somewhere with nothing in my hands? Does that mean I'm not going anywhere? Am I coming or going? Am I at the point in my life where it doesn't really matter? Don't I have enough depression in my life already, without being confused on top of everything else? However, my life wouldn't be nearly as interesting if it weren't confusing. Confusion isn't all bad. The root word of confusion is fusion, of course. "A fusing or melting together", according to Mr. Webster. And con means with. So, we have, "with a fusing or melting together". It sounds kinda neat, like a 60's grope-fest, maybe. However, there is always the off chance that I could be misinterpreting the root meanings... I love mowing the grass... once a year. I love the smell of freshly-mowed grass, unless it's on MY shoes. I'm the only one in our neighborhood that tries to promote the "wilderness" look, but Karen won't permit it. I love dandelions, but I'm forced to behead them on a regular basis. Is this any way to treat something that you love? Ah, but that is a forbidden love. Frowned upon by society and neighborhood associations. Laughed at by true agriphiles. If properly demonstrated, it will cause lust in most men's secret heart of hearts... but they'll tar & feather you anyway. Their wives make them do it. A rose is a rose is a rose, but a dandelion is but a weed. Are we not all weeds in this garden of life, though? Roses are rare. Us dandelions help them stand out, you would think that they would appreciate that, but no, we're only weeds... Mundane stuff. How long can I put off doing my laundry? Well, I've got about 35 pair of socks and underwear. And I've got sandals for when the socks run out, and nobody sees your underwear anyway... at least a month. Then I usually forget that I've got stuff in the washer, and Matt'll put it ON the dryer for me. Sometimes I get back to it before it mildews. Sometimes not. Then there's the shirts. Wash them, put them in the dryer. Get them out as soon as the dryer stops! Hang them up. Take them upstairs. Hang them in the closet. Sometimes I don't quite follow all of the steps. I don't mind wearing wrinkly shirts, but Karen has a hissy if we're going somewhere and I have a clean, perfectly servicible shirt on that happens to have a few wrinkles in it. I'll never understand women... The very worst thing about these mundane tasks, however, and the one thing that they have in common, is that they're BORING! And I hate being bored. More that almost anything else in this world, I hate being bored. I don't do well with boredom. I go crazy, and do something that's not boring, like quitting vacuuming. When I'm part-way done. Then I can go play on the computer, or something that's not boring. Sure, I feel guilty about all of this. Do you think that my mother didn't raise me right? Don't be talking about my mother... But... how guilty would I feel, laying on my deathbed, thinking "I wasted my life! I did boring things! Let me start all over again...". Yeah, see, I would feel really bad about that. So I'm not gonna let it happen. People should not equate the escape from boredom as incompetence, but they frequently do. "Mr. Franklin, we haven't received your payment for your mortgage this month, or last month either! What kind of an incompetent person are you, anyway?" People like this do NOT understand the art of living without boredom. Why, that poor woman that calls me probably doesn't even enjoy her work! And she has to live her entire life that way! How very, very sad. When I can figger out how to make paying bills fun, I'm gonna jump right on it! in the meantime... I'll be havin' FUN!