Do you know, it seems that I have forgotten how to do nothing. Not just forgotten, I'm almost in fear of doing nothing. Or of doing very little. Kicking back and focusing on something simple, relaxing, or even simply sitting and thinking, or perhaps not even thinking at all. I can't remember how to do any of those things anymore.
I often flick through glossy interiors magazines and coo over the sleek, minimal, monochrome interiors. They're gorgeous. And I inevitably sigh ... several times ... at the chicness of them all. I imagine myself living in such a home. I'm standing at the kitchen island, dressed head to toe in white, my hair doesn't stick up or stick out, and I'm at least two stone lighter, perhaps a foot taller, too.