Today I did nothing at all, and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.
I slept on and off all day, drifting in and out of dreams. Even awake I felt pleasantly sleepy, almost as if drugged, floating languorously on the lingering fragments and eddies of dissolved dreams. In between bouts of light sleep, I browsed the web, colored a little, and nibbled on leftovers and dark chocolate.
Finally I’d drift back into sleep, trying to chase some faded dream from earlier, but another dream would fall into its place, distracting me from whatever I’d been seeking to recapture.
I never even left my house.
Days like this remind me of my younger years, when I would sleep on and off all day after a night spent engaged in frenetic activity, never worrying that such a reversal might be wrong or somehow immoral.
Maybe it’s the cold medicine I’ve been taking making me feel so gloriously sleepy.
I feel like my body and mind is in some healing process, and this do-nothing day actually was anything but that. I feel like there was some profound purpose for it; some hard work was going on inside my soul, forcing my mind and body to rest.