What is tedious really? It’s all perspective really, for example, one might engross themselves with cleaning while another might find that thing TEDIOUS. Long, boring, dull, all of these things can describe a hike. But, exciting, eventful, and rewarding, can also describe a hike. Sometimes listening to opinions can be tedious, ’cause all you want to do is share yours. But that’s your opinion, not someone elses, for me, I want to hear people argue with me, or with others. It makes you think, makes you want to search their mind, see what they are thinking. Imagine that, maybe that would be tedious, but that’s me, it might not be you, or the person next to you. Reading is tedious, but only when it is, not when it isn’t, obvious right, but there was a time, long ago, when you didn’t know that. What if you were talking to someone like that, talking to yourself pretty much. That would, I think, be very tedious.
The creeping growth, the swollen air, the tilt of the light away, the sullen dampness and the dark: there’s a reason in each season to dwell in tedium. But then, too, the awakening and the rambling and the crispness and the silence: she could find more reasons for movement, if she tried hard enough.
My fingers are tied in knots,
carried by the winds that intersect
the dead end, midnight streets.
I’m knocking on doors by throwing
my entire body at the wood,
splintered shoulders,
and the porch lights don’t come on.
The street has new tar that glues
me to the gravel, and I’m leaving
footprints under a dusty blue sky
that no one will follow.
No on will follow, but I’m still
circling back to ensure
no curious wanderer gets lost.
“The job is tedious. Why must every detail be perfect? We’re just going to blow it up anyway.”
“It’s not about that Parker. It’s having pride in your work.”
“Reading this book is getting old and tedious, maybe i should stop reading it.” Lily said as closing her book and looking for a new one. “Honey where did you put that book.” Lily’s mom said. “Oh um that one that i was reading uh um… i threw it in the trash.” “HONEY THAT WAS FOR THE GARAGE SALE!” “… sorry mum.”
This word usually has a negative side to it, but many wonderful things are accomplished when I do tedious work. Things done well and most times the outcome is positive for me.
I like organization and order.
I feel tedious a lot of the time. No, is that even possible, for me to “feel” tedious? I don’t think so. Maybe I think you are tedious. Maybe doing the dishes is tedious. Maybe looking for writing/journaling programs is tedious. Yes, that is better. Other things are tedious. I am not tedious.
A head cold is the most tedious of illnesses. Not really sick enough to justify a day in bed with Netflix, but too sick to feel at all competent about the daily tasks. It is a horrible place to be. Neither sick nor well. Just yuck.
She slung her backpack over her shoulder and blew her hair out of her face. “Great. See ya.”
“Oh, come on.” His footsteps approached her rapidly from behind, “I was kidding.”
“Your jokes are becoming monotonous.”
“Hey, hey, Whit.”
“No. Stop it.”
Gelangweilt schaute sie vor sich hin. Hatte der Artikel nicht davon gesprochen, dass die besten Ideen durch Langeweile gekommen waren? Das war so langweilig…
Diese Lange weile musste ja alle Zellen töten, sodass die Schriftsteller wohl einfach nur dumm waren und es mit “Ideen der Langeweile” abgetan hatten. Oder so…
Marjorie sighed, leaning back in her seat with an unceremonious flop as the world around her began to fade into view once more. She’d been poring over the same pages for hours now, confined to her own little section of the library without a distraction in sight. She almost swore she could make out the silhouette of a librarian off in the distance, but it was of little consequence to her. For some reason, the old crone never thought much of Marjorie despite her down-to-earth, almost studious nature, and she thought even less of Marjorie’s decidedly un-studious boyfriend, Theodore.
“Ted…” she whispered softly, almost wistfully to herself. The name tasted like sweet honey on her lips.
Writing a blog is supposed to be a tedious work. I thought other wise, until now. Though my mind wishes to write a lot, wonders at the same time, whether its okay to write what all is going in my mind write now. Is it okay to publish and let others read without any mask.
I really find it tedious how some people assume things about your mood. About why you act in a certain way or say certain things. I don’t like that. Arhgg. Seriously. It’s annoying. If I act a certain way or say something don’t overanalyze it. I’m just being normal. Seriously. Unless I tell you
Another surprise that is all together predictable, but an hour around sterile stiff tables threatens to drag me by the wrists to 11th grade, walking barefoot though the fragments of things I’m pretty sure I never broke,
Wishing they were glass beneath my toes.
As exciting as that sounds, a magic act between the mime and the living statue on the street corner, it’s not, it’s an expectation of another day lying down and taking what is thrust at me, into my every day.
A sober meeting of all the changes in my life in which I am expected to sit and listen silently,
And if asked my opinion, it is only a sick joke.
Nothing changes, everything changes—the world spins but I can’t feel it from where I stand. And hour of your words mean nothing. I’ll end up in the same place, with only hours ahead of me visible at a time, and I lie down in those hours which are eternity since there is no before or after, and wonder if I stopped moving, how many days (weeks?) before anyone knows? With only a few hours, I can’t imagine, but I can dream, and resent the hour taken away, spent spooning the same rotten fruit in my mouth over glass fine like sand, invading everything.
I know the work is tedious, but the job will do you good, I promise. It pays well, you’ll have friendly colleagues, and management is top notch. Vacation time will allow you to do whatever you want, wherever you want. Take a trip to Hawaii in the summer if you want – the salary will pay for that. And the benefits – darling, for such a boring gig, you’ll never have to worry about getting sick again. You can still write your stories. I promise.
I struggled against my own mind. It trapped into a dark and deep place. I could only feel pain, nothing else. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the ugly images in my head.
The work was tedious. Every part of it needed ten to twenty steps of preparation before anything else could be done. It meant mind-numbing meetings and phone calls, lots of doodles scribbled in margins of lists of numbers, and dozens of emails sent “just to clarify.”
tedious writing is.
like seriously?
they expect us to, what?
type. Move my fingers on the keyboard- press down?
As if anyone has time for that.
not to mention pencils.
I don’t think I have those muscles in my fingers.
What is tedious really? It’s all perspective really, for example, one might engross themselves with cleaning while another might find that thing TEDIOUS. Long, boring, dull, all of these things can describe a hike. But, exciting, eventful, and rewarding, can also describe a hike. Sometimes listening to opinions can be tedious, ’cause all you want to do is share yours. But that’s your opinion, not someone elses, for me, I want to hear people argue with me, or with others. It makes you think, makes you want to search their mind, see what they are thinking. Imagine that, maybe that would be tedious, but that’s me, it might not be you, or the person next to you. Reading is tedious, but only when it is, not when it isn’t, obvious right, but there was a time, long ago, when you didn’t know that. What if you were talking to someone like that, talking to yourself pretty much. That would, I think, be very tedious.
The creeping growth, the swollen air, the tilt of the light away, the sullen dampness and the dark: there’s a reason in each season to dwell in tedium. But then, too, the awakening and the rambling and the crispness and the silence: she could find more reasons for movement, if she tried hard enough.
My fingers are tied in knots,
carried by the winds that intersect
the dead end, midnight streets.
I’m knocking on doors by throwing
my entire body at the wood,
splintered shoulders,
and the porch lights don’t come on.
The street has new tar that glues
me to the gravel, and I’m leaving
footprints under a dusty blue sky
that no one will follow.
No on will follow, but I’m still
circling back to ensure
no curious wanderer gets lost.
tedious means that it takes a lot of effort to do something. like scrubbing spots of the wall would be tedious work.
“The job is tedious. Why must every detail be perfect? We’re just going to blow it up anyway.”
“It’s not about that Parker. It’s having pride in your work.”
“Reading this book is getting old and tedious, maybe i should stop reading it.” Lily said as closing her book and looking for a new one. “Honey where did you put that book.” Lily’s mom said. “Oh um that one that i was reading uh um… i threw it in the trash.” “HONEY THAT WAS FOR THE GARAGE SALE!” “… sorry mum.”
This word usually has a negative side to it, but many wonderful things are accomplished when I do tedious work. Things done well and most times the outcome is positive for me.
I like organization and order.
I feel tedious a lot of the time. No, is that even possible, for me to “feel” tedious? I don’t think so. Maybe I think you are tedious. Maybe doing the dishes is tedious. Maybe looking for writing/journaling programs is tedious. Yes, that is better. Other things are tedious. I am not tedious.
A head cold is the most tedious of illnesses. Not really sick enough to justify a day in bed with Netflix, but too sick to feel at all competent about the daily tasks. It is a horrible place to be. Neither sick nor well. Just yuck.
She slung her backpack over her shoulder and blew her hair out of her face. “Great. See ya.”
“Oh, come on.” His footsteps approached her rapidly from behind, “I was kidding.”
“Your jokes are becoming monotonous.”
“Hey, hey, Whit.”
“No. Stop it.”
Gelangweilt schaute sie vor sich hin. Hatte der Artikel nicht davon gesprochen, dass die besten Ideen durch Langeweile gekommen waren? Das war so langweilig…
Diese Lange weile musste ja alle Zellen töten, sodass die Schriftsteller wohl einfach nur dumm waren und es mit “Ideen der Langeweile” abgetan hatten. Oder so…
Marjorie sighed, leaning back in her seat with an unceremonious flop as the world around her began to fade into view once more. She’d been poring over the same pages for hours now, confined to her own little section of the library without a distraction in sight. She almost swore she could make out the silhouette of a librarian off in the distance, but it was of little consequence to her. For some reason, the old crone never thought much of Marjorie despite her down-to-earth, almost studious nature, and she thought even less of Marjorie’s decidedly un-studious boyfriend, Theodore.
“Ted…” she whispered softly, almost wistfully to herself. The name tasted like sweet honey on her lips.
Writing a blog is supposed to be a tedious work. I thought other wise, until now. Though my mind wishes to write a lot, wonders at the same time, whether its okay to write what all is going in my mind write now. Is it okay to publish and let others read without any mask.
I really find it tedious how some people assume things about your mood. About why you act in a certain way or say certain things. I don’t like that. Arhgg. Seriously. It’s annoying. If I act a certain way or say something don’t overanalyze it. I’m just being normal. Seriously. Unless I tell you
Another surprise that is all together predictable, but an hour around sterile stiff tables threatens to drag me by the wrists to 11th grade, walking barefoot though the fragments of things I’m pretty sure I never broke,
Wishing they were glass beneath my toes.
As exciting as that sounds, a magic act between the mime and the living statue on the street corner, it’s not, it’s an expectation of another day lying down and taking what is thrust at me, into my every day.
A sober meeting of all the changes in my life in which I am expected to sit and listen silently,
And if asked my opinion, it is only a sick joke.
Nothing changes, everything changes—the world spins but I can’t feel it from where I stand. And hour of your words mean nothing. I’ll end up in the same place, with only hours ahead of me visible at a time, and I lie down in those hours which are eternity since there is no before or after, and wonder if I stopped moving, how many days (weeks?) before anyone knows? With only a few hours, I can’t imagine, but I can dream, and resent the hour taken away, spent spooning the same rotten fruit in my mouth over glass fine like sand, invading everything.
this work is tedious and hard
a drape of dreariness
when tending to the tedious
I know the work is tedious, but the job will do you good, I promise. It pays well, you’ll have friendly colleagues, and management is top notch. Vacation time will allow you to do whatever you want, wherever you want. Take a trip to Hawaii in the summer if you want – the salary will pay for that. And the benefits – darling, for such a boring gig, you’ll never have to worry about getting sick again. You can still write your stories. I promise.
His reply was very tedious.
“You wanna know what I’d do to you Ella?” Ethan smirked mischievously. I gulped backing away a couple steps.
“S-stay away.” I pointed my finger in the direction behind him. He shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets smiling knowingly.
“You know I can’t stay away even if I tried.” Ethan replied with a playful glint in his eyes as he cornered me to the lockers.
I struggled against my own mind. It trapped into a dark and deep place. I could only feel pain, nothing else. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the ugly images in my head.
The work was tedious. Every part of it needed ten to twenty steps of preparation before anything else could be done. It meant mind-numbing meetings and phone calls, lots of doodles scribbled in margins of lists of numbers, and dozens of emails sent “just to clarify.”
tedious writing is.
like seriously?
they expect us to, what?
type. Move my fingers on the keyboard- press down?
As if anyone has time for that.
not to mention pencils.
I don’t think I have those muscles in my fingers.