One of those weekends where I'm short on motivation and energy.
I cranked out a piece of flash fiction, about genetically-engineered dung beetles who'd been abandoned by their human masters as they evolved new and more efficient waste-processing technology. It was mediocre so I'm probably not posting it. One of those things where I wrote it more as a bit of moral victory than out of any particular level of craftmanship.
If anything, the theme of this weekend is pure and utter slack. And I mean that in a J. R. "Bob" Dobbs kind of way.
I watched "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas" on Friday night and then went camping with my attorney. We completely failed to reenact anything from either the film or the book, a fact I am greatly relieved about. Particularly the bit with the ether.
One topic of discussion, as we were strolling by Deep Lake during a spell of unseasonably warm heat, was that modern culture has completely and utterly lost any sort of concept of the value of doing nothing.
People work too long, work way too hard, they go home exhausted and then pursue their leisure with a level of dedication which turns their leisure into something far too much like work.
What's the point?
You need non-time to relax, let your brain decompress, gain perspective. If you don't give yourself a chance to uncoil, you wind up, get tight. After years, like a rusty spring, you lose the ability to unwind or worse, you crack or crumble into bits.
There's value in getting bored the old-fashioned way. Just sitting on a hill and watching traffic go by or seeing things in clouds. There's value in not reading a book with any sort of attention, letting the TV play while you completely fail to wash to dishes for an hour too long. Putter more. It makes you looser.