The rain keeps me in a lull that I never want to wake from.
Sinking deep into a slumber that feels like I’ve waited millennia to be in the hypnosis of.
Let me lay here.
Cradled in my cushioned nest and the safety of my plush embracing blanket.
I don’t want to do anything.
Last night, my husband said to me as we lay on the couch making a horrible attempt to watch a docuseries on this rainy weekend, “I love days where we can do nothing. It makes me feel rich.”
When you’ve thought that doing something is what has identified you as being worthy all of your life, it makes sense why you would repel the sweetness of doing nothing.
But today I get it.
The very thought of doing nothing is unbounding and freeing.
Not just for me, but for so many before me.
Who lived a life of mechanical doing.
Doing with the prospect of a slow life like mine now.
Where I can wake up and contemplate how I want to feel today before starting to do anything.
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