a personal essay about time

I’m bored. It’s November now; midterms are over, but the month still drags on. I’m not at rock bottom anymore. I’ll be going home for Thanksgiving in a few days. The weather and whether I wear a sweater or a tank top is a daily surprise. But still, I’m bored. 

And boredom is a funny thing. My mom always says, “Boredom isn’t in the thing, it's in the person.” I think I get that now. But I don’t think I want to. I’d rather be bored as a fault to something else, not some problem within myself. So I search for things to do. 

Another funny thing is that I can’t remember a lot of anything that I do unless I look through my second Instagram account where I post a daily photo dump. I don’t know why I can’t remember. I’d really like to.

In my photo dumps, my 46 followers can count on seeing at least one photo of my iPad, playing whatever streaming service movie I’m watching that day, and a screenshot of a song or lyrics on Spotify that I played for half an hour straight. Those things I can remember.

I posted on the morning of October 22 about the night before. I watched “Aftersun” at the Angelika with a friend one night after going to an “American Horror Story'' pop up shop in the West Village. The 10PM showing was almost entirely sold out; besides two seats, next to each other, on the left of the small basement theater that New York City movie-viewing establishments so often boast. The film was about a girl who, like me, was trying to piece together pieces of her life; specifically a trip to Turkey with her young father, Calum (Paul Mescal), when she was 11 years old. Old video tape recordings and fading memories dominate her mind’s reconciliation of a dad she once knew and the broken man that has stayed away since. 

Walking away from the theater I was confused for a second. But I was also crying. I remember thinking I was once that little girl too. A childhood that was once her entire world, now only blinks of words and images, scattered. I’m so scared of life moving on. And I’m so scared to forget all of the good. I dwell on the bad. My friend called it mid. 

After being walked home on a cold New York day where my only warmth came from a black knit cardigan I took from the closet of my best friend, I laid in bed, like I usually do, scrolling through Twitter. Let’s see what I missed in the past 3 hours. An edit of Kendall Roy from “Succession” set to Beyoncé’s “ALIEN SUPERSTAR” pops up on my timeline. I watch it and giggle. The feeling I get when I watch “Succession'' is only comparable to that of a 14 year old me, watching One Direction video diaries on Youtube. About 3 more hours go by before I decide it’s time to shut down.

What do I need to do tomorrow…? Did I even finish my Spanish homework tonight…? Why don’t I know Spanish already…? How many days left until the end of the semester…? How will my family afford to fly out when I graduate college…? Will I graduate college…? My fingers gravitate towards the Spotify app instead of removing the headphones over my ears. I click on “New Song” by Maggie Rogers and Del Water Gap. 

And suddenly I’m crying again. I’m not thinking about my life at all. Nothing has ever really happened to me. I hear the gentle strums of the guitar. The way their voices wail “and iiiiiiiiiiiiiii don’t miiiiiiiiiiiiiind it.” What am I doing with my life? I wish Maggie Rogers was more famous. 

It has been a long day. 

At the end of a busy day, I typically open my phone to see a text from my best friend who's back home in California. A lowercase “how was your day today” with an accompanying emoji that expresses genuine curiosity in some silly way. I don’t think he knows that it's one of my favorite parts of my day. It’s pretty weird that someone actually wants to know, isn’t it? I send a voice note detailing my day minute-by-minute. I don’t listen to it before it sends and it deletes itself before I realize I want to. 

But I’m far too excited about my friend’s day to care too much about mine. My best friend is the choreographer for a youth theatre production of Aladdin Jr. My 13 year old cousin is playing the Sultan, father of Jasmine and ruler of Agrabah. I used to do theatre there, too. So did my best friend. I was on that stage once, wasn't I? I don’t let myself remember it too much. My cousin must be having so much fun. I’m so happy for him. Most of the time I don’t want to remember.

I was never that good anyways. Most of those “friends” I made are nothing more than an Instagram follower now. Only somebody stuck in the past cares about things that happened in high school. 

Have I ever been good at anything? Remember all those times you weren’t good enough?

I’m not stuck in the past.

I pause the song. I need to concentrate. The Hinge app I downloaded for a project in my public relations class idly sits on the “Recently Added” widget of my phone’s app library. With nothing better to do, I click, and I click and I click and I click. 

x… x… x… x…. I skip and skip not because of any fault to these people. I want to waste time. I’m not looking for a relationship. I don’t know why I keep the app downloaded. 

Look at your “Likes You” page. 32 likes. Are these actually good photos of me? I don’t think I look like this in real life. This is embarrassing. I don’t care about validation. Especially not about male validation.

“Love your smile :)” Ew. 

I look at the photo again. Maybe I do have a nice smile? It’s time to close the app. 

It's been a long day. One final song before I shut down. You said that 5 hours ago. Spotify is definitely my most used app. I press play on Phoebe Bridgers’ “Graceland Too.” The strum of the banjo is my lullaby. At the midway point of the tune, Bridgers’ soft, melodic words sing “... [she] turns up the music so thoughts don’t intrude.” I turn up my music to maximum volume. 

“I would do anything you want me to. I would do anything for you. I would do anything. I would do anything. Whatever you want me to do, I will do.” 

Tears stream down my face. I think about what the song means. How do you love someone who hurts themselves so much? I would do anything you want me to. Is there anything you can do to make it better? I would do anything for you. I would do anything. Really, is there? I would do anything. How can you try to make it better for them? Whatever you want me to do, I will do. 

Through cloudy wet eyes, I stare at the small numbers on my phone screen. It's 6 in the morning. The next day. I have Spanish in 4 hours. Did I finish my homework…? Was there homework at all…? There's always Spanish homework. I’m dreading having to wake up. At least I can take my vitamins in the morning with my single sip of Whole Foods orange juice. Soon, it’ll be time to start another boring day.