We woke Saturday morning to low gray humid skies. There was no energy in the air, nor in me. I dragged myself out of bed about 9AM. John was up sitting in his favorite chair reading the NYT, coffee by his side. He was wearing his Angry BIrds jammis bottoms with his ratty old sweathird zipped up to his neck. His reading glasses were perched half way down his nose. He was perfectly content. He smiled as I slid onto the couch. I pulled the waist band tie on my bathrobe and smiled back. Obviously, I hadn't put my best face into it.
"You ok? You look tired," he observed as he folded the large newsprint page in front of him.
"Don't feel like doing anything but laying around."
"It's a good day to do nothing."
"Nothing? Do nothing?"
"Why not. Sometimes you just need a bit of down time."
"I've never not done anything for a whole day."
"Maybe you should."
And so I did. I fussed with a few papers. Mailed some theatre tickets to friends. Played with my Ipad. Read the Times. Read four articles in the latest New Yorker. Read another chapter in the never ending "Team of Rivals" using my Kindle app.
For me, that's about as "doing nothing" as I can get. It felt good.
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