The Art of Doing Nothing.

I work too much, it's true.  Sometimes I find myself moving so quickly that in the briefest moments of genuinely organic borne solitude I feel this sudden urge to explode, like a firework.  Some kind of sound so that I know I'm not alone in the quiet.

But when I am made conscious of it, this curious bit of solace, I feel...like I'm floating on my back in water.  It isn't contained, it simply...exists.  I'm not even so sure I would call it an ocean.  Almost like The Truman Show, but without the painted walls of sky.  Just that sense of real but not real.  My ears are submerged, and my face sits on the surface like a painted mask, my torso, knuckles, knees and bits of toes following suit.  There is no fight, there is no struggle.  I'm just there.

I can actually fix myself breakfast in the mornings without turning my mouth into a hoover vacuum so that I can leave the house on time, layered coats swirling through the air to wrap around my body as I open the door to leave.  As soon as I simultaneously flip off the porch switch and close the door, it becomes as good as a pistol firing into the air to begin the race towards the end of the day.

Sounds become even more heightened and significant on days where the world makes no demands.  The sound of the knob on the stove as I heat up a just washed pan, and the crack of the garlic shell as I peel away  the thin exterior.  The moisture of the minced garlic seeps into the cutting board, and as soon as the butter hits the pan it begins to brown upon impact.  Sweeping the garlic with the back of the knife into the butter, my fingers somehow manage to hold all three eggs while they crack and drop, translucence matter becoming solid.

My plate is half eggs, half sliced strawberries.  I make just enough coffee, and can actually pour soymilk into my mug because this time we have some.  Two boxes, even.  This doesn't sound like anything exciting, but because my adventures rarely travel beyond my work places and home, these kinds of mornings are things I look forward to.

As for the rest of my day?  I shower, clean the house, dance with myself to Gotan Project radio, and get lost in the realms of politics, news, and art.  This is my way of doing nothing.  My own little music box for me to happily spin on one foot and think only of the sounds that I rarely get to hear because usually its companion is dust and time spent racing against myself towards the end of a day I've barely remembered once I've turned off my alarm.