I’m Bored. No, It’s Worse Than That. I’m Boring. Sheltering at Home Week 10

Sheltering at Home. Week 10. May 23, 2020

I run into my neighbor on the street.

No, I don’t run into him. There’s a deadly virus lurking outside our front door. If I go outdoors, I don’t run into anybody. I move carefully.

I wave to my neighbor across the forty feet that separate us. We say hello.

I’d like to chat. I’m kinda needing some actual human companionship for a change. An old-fashioned conversation, complete with eye contact and body language.

That Guy I Live With

Yeah. Yeah. I know. Jon, that guy I live with, is a human being, technically. But he’s also my husband and there’s no point in striking up a conversation with him. He already knows what I think of Donald Trump and the taste of beets. Also, the virtues of cleaning the kitchen floor with a static mop instead of that clunky old vacuum cleaner he likes to use.

So. How do I snag my neighbor? He’s a really nice guy who’s now working full-time at home. How do I snag him into a conversation? Nothing big. Just a small exchange of homey, earthy, human feeling. Maybe throw a little zap of intellectual stimulation across those forty feet.

I search my brain and find I haven’t a thing to say. In the pea soup that is my brain right now, I can locate no smart conversational morsel inviting enough to lure him into standing still for an extra minute or two.

I’m not so much bored these days as I am boring.

No Pole Dancing

I find I haven’t a thing to say to my neighbor. No gossip. No big news. No blockbuster movies to micro-review across the space that separates us. No artsy trips to Coimbra or Xi’an. No wedding receptions with champagne followed by a little pole dancing. Heck, I haven’t been inside a supermarket in ten weeks.

Would he like to hear about the yoga class I’m taking on line? The California geraniums tromping recklessly across my front yard? The fat yellow jacket queen caught and euthanized in my yellow jacket trap? Jon’s brilliant discovery that relocating our WIFI booster to the hall now keeps the yoga teacher (and me) from freezing in plank position past my 60-second limit?

My neighbor smiles and waves. The conversation ends. We move on. I didn’t say much. And neither did he.

Maybe he’s as boring as I am.

I used to be interesting. Here’s proof: “The Poop on China — And the Pee.”  Also, “A Totality Disappointment in St. Joseph, Missouri.”