Published on 12, July, 2020
I used to think, for a while,, when I worked and saw no end to it, that I would be happy with more freedom, because then I would be able to do the things that interested me. It would be amazing!
Then, I was forced to stop everything by injury. Over time, I recovered to an extent and could do things again. I worked very hard to relearn old skills, and that occupied me. I walked every day with my dog, often for hours, and that occupied me. I learned to eat again,, as a new sense of taste emerged from the nothingness my injuries had caused,, and that occupied me. I built structure into my day with routines.
After more time, I did a short course. I read old poems and literature and wrote an essay or two, and that occupied me.
Later still, I got involved with a research project and that occupied me.
I think I was reasonably successful at doing all this, without coming to a total stop. Successful for me, that is.
But, nonetheless, for most of the day, every day, I did nothing at all. Hours and hours could pass without me even moving from my chair.
And whilst that was understandable for a time, in the early stages of recovery, I began to see, eventually, that I had always been the same. I am, unless compelled by routine or interest, inert. Inert, but generally content to be so.
At the time I saw it as a defect, but as my expectation of myself had been changed, couldn't be bothered to care much.
To.cut a long story short, as the saying goes - otherwise you'll all fall asleep- I was eventually persuaded to take a job - one of the several reasons I agreed was so that I would do something!
Although I'm looking forward to being inert for a couple of weeks!
Beautifully expressed.