Busy doing nothing

Lorianne has a wonderful post about the challenges of unstructured free time heralded for her by the sudden lush greenery of early summer:

Whereas most normal folks feel the impress of depression in the winter when light is scarce, I find Nature's green months to be the heaviest. There's something about the crowd of foliage that comes towards the end of May that seems sad to me, along with the onslaught of graduations and weddings that invariably follow in June. Summer, it seems, is when time speeds up, careening to an unseen finish, and that always, inexplicably, fills me with an indescribable and utterly illogical sense of dread. Already spring is ending: can August, fall, and then winter be long behind? Having wasted much of my morning doing nothing of note, how easy is it to waste entire days, weeks, months, and years doing nothing but falling aimlessly toward a cataract that has loomed greenly from the get-go?


I need to have a sense of when I'll write, when I'll walk the dog, when I'll read. I need to know that Monday is when I shop, Thursday is when I do laundry, and Friday is when I take the day off, an entire day to do whatever I want to do, alone or accompanied, at whatever time and for however long as I damn well please. But only after, of course, I've done the usual morning ritual, my fidelity to which earns me the right to take the rest of the day off. Doing anything but would be too slovenly, too sinful, too...scary. Time is the ultimate wild beast, but a schedule is the chair and whip with which I run Time though his red-fanged paces: now you'll roar, now you'll bow.

Do go and read the whole piece - it is brilliant.