I get days where I do a lot, yet don’t feel busy. And sometimes days where there’s only one thing to do, but I feel booked up by that one thing. I’d like to bottle some of that first kind of day, save it for the other times.
Yesterday, I was still sports-less. My eye appointment is next Friday, so I hope to be back at football right after, but yesterday had nothing planned for it. Usually I only get short pockets of time between planned activities, but the whole of last Sunday was mine to make up as I went along. I made omelet, crocheted my blanket, watched a movie, listened to War of the Worlds, watered the garden, played games, made a roast – and still had time to space out, staring at cracks and plaster. It was relaxing and agitating. I’m not used to this, but I like it.
I did a usual amount of things, but felt unusually un-busy. It makes me wonder if the debate over the busy-ness of modern life comes down to simply having your life too planned. That it’s not how much you actually do that makes you feel busy, as much as the amount of time spent planning, thinking, anticipating, worrying in advance.
But this was one orphan Sunday in a wild and varied world. I certainly felt rested, though, and refreshed when I started the day this morning. I have a taste for it now, a need to spend more time bored – the good kind of bored with room for adventure. Not at the expense of football, of course. I can’t wait to start up again. :)
81, not 100, is now the magic number for this blanket. I’m 12 squares in and starting to feel aches in my wrist – from this, plus mousing, gardening and a sub-arctic office climate. Bought a ‘bed buddy small joint wrap’ today to stay warm in the greasy tundra of my desk. More on that once I’ve tried it out.
Off to bed now. I’m trying to sleep earlier instead of staying up late on the internet. For now, this means bed before midnight. Three minutes to go.
Oh shit, two minutes. NIGHT!