Dueling Virtues

God, I've been using that word a lot lately: virtue. I don't even LIKE the word virtue. It's just seemed appropriate in a few contexts as of late.

So here are the dueling virtues: 1) The inability to be bored. This is evidence of a lively imagination and a creative mind. If you're truly bored (when you're generally comfortable), you're not entertaining yourself. Why would you be incapable of entertaining yourself? It sounds like you're a dull, dull person. Boo, you. 2) The inability to be happy without DOING something. This is evidence of energy, motivation and a hunger for productivity. If you can be satisfied without being productive, you're a lazy, unambitious person. Boo, you.

Can these virtues coexist? I'm definitely in the former category. If I'm physically comfortable, I can space out and fantasize and think until the cows come home (Note: A Wisconsin-born waiter on the upper west side once informed me that the cows come home around 5 pm. I suppose I don't seem so impressive anymore). My mind is a limitless resource of fun! Unfortunately for me, this also means I can spend an entire summer (or longer) pretty much doing nothing and be totally cool with that. Sure, when I actually started accomplishing goals and producing articles I felt a certain goodness I hadn't felt since I wrote my chorale to "How Doth the Little Crocodile" for music 210. But I didn't feel the conspicuous absence of that joy when it wasn't there. A couple weeks ago, Chayes told me she could never spend a summer just hanging out, reading, chilling with friends. She'd jump out of her skin! I admire and envy her need to be productive, but I have that little smile in the back of my head (I should get a biopsy on that...) because I can entertain myself longer than others. I don't know if the virtues are precise opposites, but they may be close enough that each person can have only one.

On a completely different note: the 4^th floor is scary. The photography studio had an open call for models today, and every time I rode the elevator, the doors opened to reveal about 30 tall, gorgeous women anxiously milling about. When I rode up the elevator, the woman next to me (very-good-looking-but-not-too-sweet-faced 6-foot black woman) asked me "Four?" assuming that was where I was going. I probably should have taken the compliment instead of looking at her like she was crazy and saying "Uh, seven." Yeah, lady; maybe I'll write dialogue for people who look like you.

And on a sadder note (D?), my great aunt died last night. I spoke to my grandmother about a half hour ago, and she didn't sound too great. It's really hard for her. Bah. I don't like to see/hear Griz so sad.