On the day when I did nothing at all, I woke up with a throbbing ball of accumulated tiredness instead of my usual head on the shoulders, I cooked breakfast for three, tidied everything up, then cycled with the child to school, bought some bread on the way back as it was needed at home, sorted out some pending correspondence and then did the laundry because that was needed too. I rested then for all of 15 minutes or rather those 15 minutes imposed their rest on me, without much cause for appeal.

On that same day when I did nothing at all, I cooked lunch as well, then discussed and clarified various issues as they popped up and claimed time that seemed stretched beyond recognition, cooked dinner, made some caramelised walnuts too, washed and cleaned everything as needed in the kitchen, set all up as required for next day's meals as well, looked after the child, got him all ready for sleep and ready for his next day too. And then as I noticed off hand to someone else that I *really* did nothing at all the whole day, they replied that they nearly got tired only hearing that list of "nothing", so what on Earth am I talking nonsense for?

By the end of the day when I did nothing at all, all it took was that unexpected question (such are the best friends to have!) to knock off entirely a whole ball of accumulated tiredness, for it was the weirdest of things to hold at the same time as equally valid that I did nothing at all and that I did at the same time quite a lot, too. Nevertheless, there wasn't much of the day left (nor much awake of me) to figure this out in the least and so I let sleep claim whatever little was left of it all.

After the day when I did nothing at all, I woke up with the riddle solved, the answer all ready and fitting: it wasn't as much that I hadn't *done* anything the day before as it was that -for once, for one rather rare once- I hadn't really *grown* at all that day as all those doings were the sort that had no weight for me anymore: they claimed merely some of my time and certainly my existence but close to none of my deep engagement otherwise. I had been present that day, certainly, but I hadn't travelled with it anywhere further than on any of the days that had passed before, merely treading the same old ground, familiar and easy as it might be. And so it felt correctly that there was indeed nothing done - more precisely said nothing achieved that day, for all its enumerable motions that may seem like activity only to the youngest or most superficial of glances.

Category: Word Therapy

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