I have this theory of radical sloth. I invoke it as needed. Sometimes, the theory goes, the best thing to do is nothing. Said theory is staggeringly difficult to convert to policy. But you know: I try.
I am a staunch opponent of the culture of busy. I do my best to resist societal pressure to scurry about antlike, and operate instead at my own strange pace. Doing nothing I consider an art. I like to suppose that if you do nothing enough the things you then do will be better and count more.
Of course even in mid-hibernate you end up doing something, but it'll be exploratory and non-required. I took up Nicki Minaj whilst Carmela took up Pema Chodron. We have conversations like:
Ca[rm]: Bodhichitta is essentially a quality of warmth, an experience of our connection with all beings and with all things.
Cl[eb]: Shoulda sent a thank-you note you little ho. Now I'ma wrap ya coffin with a bow.
Ca: Don't have expectations for others. Just be kind.
Cl: I don't sympathize. Cause you a simple bitch.
Carm meditates for days in her kitty bed cave. I leave Wild Cravings treats at her feet and she bows ever so slightly but doesn't touch them until her sit is finished. I'll be in badbitch heels giving myself a dominatrix lapdance with gold-teeth-and-fangs derangement sneers for the mirror and the little feline Buddhist nun remains perfectly still.
Start at 3:35. And emphatically not before.
But mostly I've been filing my nails and thinking my thoughts and taking decadent naps and twiddling my thumbs. I had a nice long sleep. Now I'm rubbing my eyes and stretching my limbs. Emergence is nigh.
Good looks to the illustrator.
