There is a savage, atavistic delight in doing nothing, spurred on by my extreme levels of activity during the week this past month. To sit down in my bathrobe and flick through news sites, to browse blogs while listening to music, without any rush to get up and go go go – ah! To lie in bed till 11am, to watch the world pass by my window and not feel any compunction to arise and partake, now that is luxury. Stillness when you wish to be still, silence when you wish to not talk, control over your body, the ability to dictate unto yourself a complete embrace of sloth, punctuated by good books, good music, good food and little else. Yes, yes, yes.
I was recently gifted with a mound of comic books hailing from the HellBlazer series, and am deep in them, reading and turning pages with delight. I love these kinds of stories, where hard nosed, cynical heroes of an intelligent bent are thrown against foes of vastly superior powers and incalculable cruelty. Where the heights of Heaven and depths of Hell are plumbed, where creatures and monsters play their part and then bow out, defeated or having offered service. All juxtaposed against prosaic settings; rain hissing down on grubby London streets, people rushing to chic bars hidden in the heart of the East Village, the world in all its drab glory. Brilliant!
Thoughts are percolating through my mind, thoughts about a new novel, though right behind, practically neck and neck, is the desire to finish Unreal City, the novel I made serious inroads into earlier this year, so long ago when I was a NYC denizen. To go back and kick it into shape, knock it about, round it off and then cast it away once it’s done. So much to write, so little time, and all crippled by deliriously delightful sloth. Ah, Sundays, Sundays, you’ll be the death of me.
I’m going to grab a mug of tea and have breakfast. Maybe. As soon as I get up and go to the kitchen. Any moment now. Wait for it…