Absolutly Nothing

In the Garden at Maurecourt
by Berthe Morisot, circa 1884

There are so many things to do in this life and at times I feel like I want to do them all. I want to read every book, hear every song, see every movie, join every discussion. Just be in on the action. Last month every weekend was filled with something. Even my "off" weekend was taken up by my mother's fall. So now I find myself coming to another weekend of craziness.

A group of people are heading to Galveston to help with repairing homes damaged by hurricane Ike. When I was asked if I wanted to go it seemed years away, and a fun afternoon with friends. Then yesterday I read the description of what we were doing. Hanging sheet rock. Moving furniture in and out of rooms. I feel tired already.

Am I just a whining here? Today I am telling them I can't go. Instead of being at the church at 7:30 Saturday morning I am going to be at home, in my bath robe. Instead of hanging sheet rock I am going to take Alex to her acting class and then I'm going to rest, maybe clean my own house for a change. I am spending the day with my daughter doing nothing in particular. A lost art.