I’m doing nothing. Actually… I’m supposed to be doing nothing because I’m in. In fact I’m doing a hell of a lot.
I’ve spent most of the day in bed drifting in and out of sleep, not eating and sipping stale water. Going up and down the stairs was a bit of a mission, so I’ve kept that to a minimum too. Call this the ultimate pyjama day.
Doing nothing in the hopes of speeding up my recovery.
And I’ve felt guilty all day! I’ve barely spent any time with Dave or the boys and I’ve not done any of the odd jobs I would normally do on a weekend. I just about managed to wash up after dinner. The logical part of me states that to feel guilt about this is foolish; I’m ill and need to rest. But doing nothing has become such a terrible thing that I can hardly stand it.
But the value of doing nothing shouldn’t be over looked. Because – and this is the really interesting thing – I’m not really doing nothing. I’m thinking. I’m planning. I’m organising. I’m recovering. Even if I’m not washing clothes, buying groceries, cleaning up or playing with my boys, my brain is working as hard as ever it was.
Today, despite doing nothing I have decided on a plan of action for SORB. I have flesh out some of the ideas from the critique I received yesterday on short story I plan to enter into a competition in June. I have also made myself feel somewhat better by catching up on sleep and resting my body. Doing nothing is more valuable than I ever realised. Giving myself that time and space, by ignoring all those other things I usually do has made future activities potentially easier.
What about you? Do you find yourself freaking out at the idea of doing nothing? How often do you stop to do exactly that… nothing?