Whenever I dream of getting away from it all, it's always to the sea. It's the nothingness, the vast, open space, the weather. Lots of weather. And the stormier the better. Watching the waves crash on to the beach and then retreat backwards almost as if bowing their apologies to the sand for treating it so harshly.
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. Or if I find myself with time to just be, I worry that I should be busier or ticking off one of the many things on my to-do list, even though the deadlines are mostly self-imposed. How strange?! When did I lose of the art of being a little bit lazy? I was once able to spend hours doing nothing more than musing over the identity of Gossip Girl and conducting a mini-debate as to whether my imaginary New York crash pad should be on the Upper East or Upper West Side. I'm definitely not cool enough for the Meat Packing District but would want to be overlooking Central Park, anyway. Which would you choose? It's a tough one, isn't it?!
Because they don't sleep. This sentence could be prefixed in many different ways. My boys. The sleep-averse tag team. One who can't sleep unless cuddled up next to his mama and the other wide-eyed and ready to start the day at barely a minute past 5.30. And neither feel inclined to nap in the day either. So. I don't really get a great deal of sleep because they don't sleep. I drink too much coffee because they don't sleep. I seem to have permanent bags under my eyes that no amount of Touche Eclat can disguise, because they don't sleep. The days (and nights) can sometimes seem a little long because they don't sleep. And so on, and so on.