Hell of a Guy

The Art of Doing Nothing…


Since my glorious ride into the sunset when my retirement took effect back in November, countless people have asked me what I am doing these days with my time.  I am not sure what they want to hear, but I sure as hell know exactly what I am doing.  The answer is nothing, as in not much, nada, very little, for sure, damn little.

I have made an art of doing nothing, and when people ask me about what I do with “all my extra time.” I just have to smile and answer them with a big “nothing at all.”  The follow-up question is typically something along the lines of what would I like to do, and the answer is still the same…nothing.  Do I do stuff?  Of course I do stuff, but not much stuff.  I no longer have to do anything…and, if I might add, I love not having to do stuff unless I choose to do stuff.

My days still begin relatively early even now.  I suppose I am destined to arise before Sol lifts her sunny face over the mountain, though I would dearly love to open my eyes in the morning and see daylight streaming through the bedroom windows.  Getting up has never been a chore for me, I have been an early riser as long as I can remember, especially Saturday mornings in the fifties.  Hopalong Cassidy movies came on at seven, and I couldn’t miss them, and back in the days of 13” TV screens broadcasting in black and white we couldn’t hit a record button to watch a show later.  Fast forward sixty years…now after getting out of the bed my day begins by getting a pot of coffee going and fetching clean water for the cat (she immediately goes to her bowl, sits and stares at me then her at water bowl verbally expressing her need until I refill it with fresh water).  Once these strenuous chores are completed I head for the family room and my chair and the morning news, and there I sit until it is time to make the first attempt to get The Nancy moving.

Waking The Nancy is about the toughest chore I have each day.  Is my job to make sure she is up, showered, dressed, and fed and to work on time, which is the easy part once I have tormented her until she rolls out of rem stage and slides out of the bed.  It really is the only responsibility I have these days.  Basically, once The Nancy is in her office my day is officially done.

Officially done may be a stretch, though not a big one.  The Nancy gone off to earn money to keep me living in a manner to which I have become accustomed, I return to my chair to plan the rest of my day.  I grab a pen and a pad and I hold the pen in my left hand (lefthanders are supposed to be creative) as I begin to make a mental list of all I might like to do to fill the seemingly endless hours until The Nancy returns.  The problem resides somewhere between my rapidly atrophying medulla oblongata and the nerves and muscles in my writing hand.  The list has yet to be codified, so therefore nothing of great measure gets done, and thus is the alpha and omega of my The Best of Day Ever.

Please know this; doing nothing is and truly an art and this Hell of a Guy has completed an outstanding collection using this medium.

And that is all I have to say about that…

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