Be as boring as possible.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain. or Coffeemaker.
Whichever...have to use the rest room again.
 
I love the traditional Thanksgiving meal: rice cakes formed into a sort of turkey-shaped thing, with a side of iceberg lettuce, and, for dessert, tepid water... in festive bowls!
 
I have done so much shopping this week. If I see one more clothes shop I am going to yawn.

Also we don't celebrate Thanksgiving here, we are so boring.
 
I dreamed that I couldn't figure out how to add fabric softener. Let me tell you, in detail, about that dream.
 
I ground up some dried beans. Then I strained hot water through them. The resulting "hot beverage" was fine.
 
I've been dumping the coffee grounds down the kitchen sink at work for months with the expectation that this would eventually lead to a major plumbing explosion, an exciting inquiry, and an eventual scolding. But, alas, nothing.
 
Watching digital minutes counting on my keyboard LCD. Pondering should I carry the trash out or go wash the dishes.
And how to forbid husband dear to do any more cooking without provoking World War V. Men have no fucking clue how to clean the kitchen.
 
This sounds so utterly boring, I'm completely fascinated. I would watch this.

Yes. It is fascinating, in a way. I won't deny it. There is a "tense moment" - a "small thrill" if you will, when one approaches a number divisible by 100. When it passes, that shared sense of mutual accomplishment washes over the windowless, beige room furnished with only a card table and two metal folding chairs.
 
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