A Whole Lotta Nothing

I spent the better part of my day doing nothing. At least, what I consider nothing. Now, some people are really good at nothing, so it’s no big achievement for them to not achieve. But for me, doing things is an addiction, like gambling or alcohol, only without the devastation for my children and the eventual break up of my marriage, which was just not strong enough to overcome the financial ruin, the public embarrassment, and the lack of trust. Actually, my husband and children kind of like my over functioning, as it allows them to do more of, well, nothing.

I had a valid reason to not do anything. I didn’t feel good. Not feeling good is the reason a lot of people do nothing, although they rephrase it as “getting rest.” Well, I didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel good yesterday, and I went to bed not feeling good. When I woke up, I thought I felt better, but by the time breakfast was over, I realized I was wrong. But I persisted in doing something, instead of “getting rest”, or nothing. I got the kids ready for school, and drove them. I contemplated going to the gym, thinking perhaps that would make me feel better, but when I got to the entrance, I thought differently.

I went to the grocery store instead. That does count as something, because if I didn’t do it, someone else would. And let me tell you, the grocery store at 8:30 is a lonely place. It is full of yummy smells, of fresh baked somethings and roasting something elses. But it is also sparsely populated by the elderly, who have nothing better to do at 8:30 than get another container of yogurt and a fresh jar of Sanka. By 9:00 I finished, and even the pharmacist wasn’t there yet to raise her little window cage. Which means two things. One, the pharmacist maybe felt like doing nothing, or felt more like doing nothing than being at work. And two, that I now had to return to the store to get my prescriptions, like the rest of the old people wandering the aisles.
I went home. I put away my groceries. I started a small load of laundry, which doesn’t count as doing something because they were delicates and thus don’t have to be folded. I went in my bedroom, took off my clothes, and climbed back under the covers. I read for an hour. I put down my book and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I lay in bed and listened to what it sounds like at home during the day, with no one else around but the cats. Mostly, I heard that soft static-y sound that is the sound of nothing. I also heard my cell phone beep, a missed call during my nap and reading. I heard hammering in the distance. The honk of Canada geese. The hum of traffic on the interstate. The tinkle of my cat’s collar bell. The rustling of my own dirty hair against the pillow case. My stomach growling.

After I finished listening to nothing, I thought a bit about nothing. Here’s what my nothing thoughts are like: My ceiling fan needs to be cleaned. Where are the cats? Why didn’t either of them want to nap with me? Is it too early to be lunch time yet? When I lie flat on my back, my ribs and hips poke up and I almost look skinny. Too bad I can’t lie down everywhere I go. Do my armpits stink? Did I wash my hair yesterday? I really should clean that ceiling fan. I really should clean all the ceiling fans. I wonder if my Fannie can reach all the ceiling fans. Ha, ha. The thing I use to clean my ceiling fans is called Fannie.

I think you get the idea. Moshe, one of my cats, joined me, and I amused myself for another five minutes by moving one foot a second, then another, to watch his pupils dilate and contract before he finally attacked me. Only then did I get up. And I did shower and make lunch for my husband and thought about returning phone calls and working on my volunteer obligations and arranging play dates and paying bills online. But then I thought again, why ruin my day of nothing with a bunch of little somethings? That’s what tomorrow is for.