The Color of Boredom

When I arrived for the second time in Utah this year, I still had a week before school started. Among others, I have a great weakness for being scatter-brained and spacey. Combining that quality with the fact that I'm a perfectionist often yields very interesting results. This year, I was determined to be organized. Add perfectionism and you get a generally ditzy person attempting to become the epitome of organization. In my imagination I pictured someone mature, sophisticated, poised—the kind of person who writes down every last thing in a little pocket calendar, always has assignments finished and turned in on time—if not early—and eats healthy, perfectly balanced lunches (think carrot sticks, yogurt, and an apple).

With a clear, sharp vision of this "wonder-me", I set off zealously to accomplish my goal. I emptied all my cardboard boxes, put my clothes away, made my bed, and organized all my things. I remember the glee I felt while buying my groceries—making sure to buy plenty of fruits and veggies—and putting each in their proper place in the kitchen. My euphoria spun to new heights as I scurried off to Ross to buy "organizing" supplies. I bought a million of those little hooks that stick to the wall, hanging closet shelves for shoes and sweaters, baskets for makeup and hair stuff, and plastic partitions to separate my socks and underwear. I even arranged my clothes by color. I must have been cackling hysterically by the time I was finished. I worked so fervently that when I finally allowed myself to sit back and relax, I realized that I had nothing left to do. Nothing at all. It was a strange and satisfying feeling that lasted for a very short period of time.

I became desperately bored. With nothing left to perfect, I quickly spiraled from the smart, refined, no-nonsense university student I imagined to something resembling a cavewoman. I spent at least an hour taking the following photos in a wretched attempt to entertain myself. I apologize if they are disturbing—nothing but acute boredom and extreme desperation could have driven me to this:

Boredom always reveals one's true colors. Part of me wonders why I would post these photos and thus subject myself to ridicule. Perhaps this is a subconscious cry for help. My psyche is obviously unstable. Or perhaps I'm posting this in the hope that not everyone will run screaming in the opposite direction. After all, it's polite to warn people when they're dealing with—ahem—someone like me. As the Pioneer Woman would say, "I'm just keepin' it real."