Tuesday, August 12, 2025, 7:19 am
Idle minds

What do people do?
Is this where the bad decisions come from? Idle hands and all that?
Here, I find myself with a day off. And nothing to do. At least there is nothing I have to do. Today.
I can stay in bed. All day. Glorious, no?
Except, that is what I do. All day. Nothing.
Clarissa calls me. “What are you going to do today?”
I have no answer. Other than, “I can come over.”
“That’s not what I want,” is her reply.
Here, I lie in bed. With nothing to do.
Yet, people do things. Have I always been like this? Just sitting in neutral with no tasks at hand?
I joke. “My hobby is sleeping,” I say. It’s not wrong though. It’s no joke. Some days, I don’t leave the apartment. Or the cottage. Or the house.
At times, I adventure. No city is too far. Nor countryside. Nor attraction. Nor mountain, nor monument.
But why? For those Marriott beds? Perhaps. Because I will sleep on “vacation” too. Hmm.
No drive.
Yes, I will wander into the out. I will find something to eat. Likely a sandwich or a taco. Preferably a taco, but again she doesn’t want to see me. I will go get some things from the store. Fabric softener is at the top of the list.
I need a haircut. The bedding needs washed. Or warshed, depending on your dialect. I used to exercise—walks, lifting at the gym, runs. Hell, I used to eat far more protein than I currently do. My back hurts, so a trip to the chiropractor definitely won’t hurt. I have more books to read than I can finish before I die. I’m tragically pale—and unhappy—so a few minutes under the happy lights is an option as well. I used to write. More. A lot more.
And there’s plenty of time in the day to do it. But there’s television. And doom scrolling. Clarissa will call again and we’ll talk—probably for hours. She is also doing nothing. Sitting in the dark. Thinking. About everything. About life.
When did we become so lost? So idle? Devil’s playthings, indeed.
Yet, I am so comfortable. Lying in this bed. Typing this out on a laptop. I can roll over and go back to sleep. And it will be glorious. Satisfying. I’m so relaxed.
What if comfort is an indication that I am less? The key indicator that I am NOT doing the right thing? What if it’s my drug. Not unlike her. This euphoric sensation of the next narcoleptic wave that will whisk me away to dreamland. Where adventure and sex and love and action await.
Seriously, what do people do? And what will I do today?