Doing Nothing

This weekend was the closest I’ve come in a long time to doing nothing – it’s something I am *really* bad at, which I’m coming to terms with.

I try and keep busy on weekends, go out and do stuff, get things done, and that suits me.  But I still get to the point (like recently) where I’ve been constantly busy and occupied for so damn long, it feels like I’m completely burned out and I need that down-time, a weekend or two where I don’t do much.

As has been observed before, I’ve been pretty much booked solid since about October, so I really needed a quiet time where I vegetated a bit, caught up on some of the more domestic things, and generally did a bit of recuperation. And that was the plan this weekend – I had some stuff I wanted to do (buying the trees, seeing a film, organising house stuff, ironing etc.) but the rest was meant to be downtime.

That plan was successful, I can’t deny. I did get all the planned stuff done, and I used a lot of downtime.

But it gets to now, 10pmish on Sunday, and I feel kind of guilty, kind of lazy. I know it’s been needed, and I mainly feel better for having not done much – but simultaneously, I feel like it’s been a bit of a waste.

It’s safe to say, I think, that I am phenomenally bad at doing nothing…

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