the Difference in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

I return to work on Monday after 3 weeks of no classes and for some reason, I’m incredibly nervous about it. I feel like I haven’t prepared or something.

I severely injured my foot on my birthday and have spent most of the 3 weeks unable to walk. I ended up taking time off from the 3 weeks of no classes, which is what everyone does and what I was planning to do, but no trips to Singapore for me. I really do need to get that planned.

I am planning to go to Singapore because it was my grandfather’s favorite place to travel. Unlike the rest of my family, my grandfather traveled all over the world. He lived in India, Indonesia, the Philippines, Singapore, Zaire, Kenya, and Honduras. He always said his favorite place was Singapore, and his last trip there was in the 1990s. I remember because that was the last night I slept in the same bed as my grandmother, which might seem silly, but it was something I had always done since I was a little child whenever my grandfather left the country.

I was 16 and still sleeping in her bed while he was away in Manila.

No one else in family ever had the audacity to go anywhere, until my brother Chuckie came along. At 16, he decided to move to Mozambique for 6 months. It caught him up to the harsh realities of life very quickly. My little brothers were always far more sheltered than I was, and that’s saying something because I was actually a very sheltered child (I didn’t see or even understand what marijuana was until I was about 22).

Right now, Chuckie is on some road trip with his girlfriend. I must admit, I’m kind of jealous of Chuckie. Mostly because he knew exactly what he wanted and understood himself so clearly.

I am nothing like that. I always got trapped into doing things that I never really wanted to do in the first place.

People ask me, “What are your hobbies?” I have no hobbies. I have no interests. I have nothing to occupy my mind or my time. This is just the tip of the iceberg. I really don’t know a lot of things about myself.

Supposedly, that’s the point of life - to learn about oneself. But you know what? I’m tired of it. Can it just be over? I’m not talking about killing myself again, although this is the general feeling that lead to my belief that life was not worth living… it’s just that I have no interest in any of it all.

I am not interesting. You are probably not interesting. No offense. I’m just bored of it all.

Chuckie learned a new language, found a Chinese girlfriend 25 minutes away from where he lived and is taking her on a road trip around the Pacific Northwest. That kind of passion is something I just don’t have…

I’m not that upset that I wasn’t able to go to Singapore even though going there to honor my grandfather is the most purposeful thing I have at the moment.

When things were bad, I was bored. When things are good, I’m bored.

I reminds me of that great meme:
“What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”