I’ve been kind of promising myself a day off for quite the little while now, but not until today did I actually give myself one. Acutally, it was entriely unintentional. I looked into my diary last night and realised I had nothing booked in for the day – in itself something really rather exceptional – and when I woke up this morning, perched with laptop on the sofa bed (on which I’m currently residing as K has a virus of some sort that is as-yet undiagnosed and we don’t want to run the risk of passing it on, which sucks big time) I thought to myself that if I didn’t have to be anywhere today and I didn’t have any deadlines today or tomorrow then what I should really do is just enjoy the emptiness for the day.
Which is just what I set about doing. I managed to spend *almost* the entire day sprawled on the sofa bed watching some old Season 2 Episodes of Entourage (my inspiration of choice at the moment), surfing the ‘net, spending way too much time on Facebook and writing 14 pages of my current script, which has taken me up to 59 pages now and just a little behind my target for getting a first draft done by 1 April.
I haven’t spent a day doing practically nothing for a really, really long time and it was actually completely awesome and much, much needed. It’s amazing how much you can relax and recharge with a day of not doing anything at all. That’s really what weekends should be about but is something both K and I seem to be 100% terribly at keeping clear and free to chill out. We keep promising that we’ll be better at marking things out, but it’s a habit we don’t seem to be able to break. People are so nice they keep asking us to do things. And we appear to be incapable of saying, “no”.
But that’s all for another day and another time. Right now, I still can’t sleep because I apparently didn’t do enough today – ironic, huh? – to send me to street straight away. So I’ve got Devil Wears Prada on in the background and trying to work out if that attitude would work for CF Talk. I’m thinking not…