On becoming the lazy bastard I was meant to be
Sal finds me back in bed at 9:00am. I got up at 5am and started working. He’s been on an early conference call with China. When he’s done he creeps up the stairs to see me there, curled up. With the cat. (After a few hours of work, I’d made a dramatic retreat.)
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not doing anything, I’m just relaxing.”
The look on Sal’s face read: DOES NOT COMPUTE: Heidi does not sit still.
“This is my job now, Sal.” I explain, “I don’t do jack shit now. Everyone is telling me to chill the fuck out so guess what. I’m chilling out. This is what the cats do all day. They’re teaching me how.”
“You’re not even going to read a magazine?”
“You’re not even going to check emails?”
“Will you help me roll the cookie dough into balls?”
“Will you come and join me in the garden?”
“Nope. All I do now is ride bikes and then sit around. This is it. This is me for the next month. This is me not stressing out. This is me staying healthy. I have enough work to keep me pleasantly busy through June. I’m telling everything else to screw off.”
“But you have to do something! This is NOT LIKE YOU.”
It is now.
I’ve been sick. And then sick again. And then sick again. Everyone keeps telling me to dial it back. To cut stuff out. To reduce stresses and embrace relaxation. So here I go.
I’m going to stay home and lay on the couch. I’m going to politely decline lunch invitations. I’m going to skip parties. I’m going to say no to new gigs. I’m not going to clean up or scan film or do much of anything.
I’m going to become the laziest person alive because that’s what my body wants. Down time. Deep rest. Recovery.
And when Sal asks me, “What are you doing?” I hope I can always answer this way: “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Here’s to embracing the inner selfish bike rider in me. I’m taking this lazy bastard thing to great new heights.
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