A weekend doing nothing

Since sending my book off my weekend lifestyle has changed big time. For every weekend for as long as I can remember I spent hours each day sitting at my desk writing. Once the book was in the mail there was no more need to do that.

My next writing project is an essay, and I spent a couple of hours making some notes and doing some research, but that’s been pretty well it. I made a decision to do as little as possible because I was curious as to how it would feel. What I felt was a bit lost. When you’ve built up such a solid routine it feels wrong when you step away from it. I felt lazy in a way, as if I was skiving off from important work to be a bum.

Then this last weekend came and I had an excuse to do nothing. We celebrated Diwali at work on Friday, and I hoed into the assorted Indian tucker like the true cosmopolitan I am. Somewhere along the way I partook, literally, of a dodgy curry, and knew about it from about 3am Saturday morning, and every 90 minutes thereafter.

I was supposed to get my hair cut Saturday morning, but it seemed an unsafe proposition and so I cancelled. The local farmers market was on and I took a chance betting I could get back inside 90 minutes and I went along.

I love farmer’s markets. There’s always such a good vibe, and the produce is generally top notch. The farmers market in Sandy is always busy, with lots of kids, and more dogs than you could point a bone at. I went without Rigby because I didn’t want to manage him as well as everything else, but there were plenty of mutts whose eye I caught..

I did my usual shopping, buying some artisan bread, gourmet snags, a couple of herb seedlings, as well as an indulgent choc brownie. I was out of there within 40 minutes and heading home along the beach track.

Once more I thought how good life is in Australia, and particularly in a place like where I live. Leaving the market I heard the sounds of distant song, a choir it sounded like, singing Consider Yourself, from Oliver Twist. I walked a little way along the path until I came to a clearing. I stood on the high headland looking back towards the yacht club. Down below was a community choir of some ilk giving a performance to a collected crowd. Why it was I didn’t know, but I was happy that such a thing might occur.

I walked on, looking out towards the bay where just offshore a yacht race seemed to be in progress, and passing by good citizens with their beautiful dogs.

It’s no exaggeration to claim that a bit of my heart melts every time I see a dog. I love them to death, and each time I saw one I felt a little better, no matter the churning in my gut. It seems to me that a dog’s life span is shorter than ours because they manage to cram in as much delight, love and affection in their dozen odd years as we do in our seventy. They are a much purer expression of happiness than what we are, and we can learn a lot from them.

I got home just in the nick of time. I gave Rigby a hug and spent the rest of the day and much of yesterday being a bum. Fact is when you’re crook like that you don’t have much motivation to do more, and little energy. I felt a little lost, but ultimately spent most of the weekend watching a movie on Foxtel, or reading.

Next weekend I intend to get back to some routine. Today, I’m well again just in time for work.

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