It's the end of a long long week, at the end of a long long half term, and I've got the house to myself until 3pm. There are plenty of things I could / should be doing: cleaning and tidying, washing and ironing, finishing one article and proofreading another. Running on a treadmill. Raking up leaves. So far I have done none of these. So far I have done the following:
- Got up - sort of - and eaten breakfast
- Read a magazine
- Put some washing on a line
- Gone back to bed
- Read a book in bed
- Got up again. Found some clothes this time. Cleaned my teeth. Cleaned the bathroom (only because I want a shower in less squalid surroundings).
- Rang work with 'just a thought' about a patient I saw yesterday
- Made coffee and a marmalade sandwich, Paddington Bear style
- Sat here writing rubbish.
And, er, that's it...
Am now feeling sort of guilty. Or at least, anxious that this waste of time will ultimately catch up with me, and I'll be forced to pay some penalty. I probably wouldn't feel nearly so guilty if I had Done Nothing with a friend or family. It's the knowledge that others are hard at work whilst I fritter time away that's eating me up.
But not enough to make me want to actually do anything.
Now, where did I put that book....