no knitting today*

because somebody has been trying to do some work. Notice the book title on top of the pile (squint a little). Notice the irony.


I'm bogged down in this pile of leisure - there is a theory that it probably should be turned into a chapter in my thesis - which seems to have sucked all the fun out of having fun. (I know, I know, 'leisure' isn't only about fun, but honestly, couldn't someone, somewhere, remember that enjoyment, which just has to be fun's kissing cousin, is an important part of that thing which is not work, but nor just play, nor sheer idleness.)

Nor is work helped by being surrounded by some small furry creatures, who show amazing dedication to the art of generally lounging around, with a speciality in sleeping. Surely, surely, the creativity they show in idleness is an indicator of enjoyment, of fun. The pleasure vocalized in getting the bedding just right, the padding and prodding and pushing of wrinkles and crinkles and bumps. The pleasure taken in roaming from potential sleeping spot to potential sleeping spot, to find the one that is just right, right now. The rise into almost awake, as the ear twitches to a 'was that the sound of food being prepared?' beat. The mid-nap, still asleep stand-stretch-and-switch-sides dance. Who knew that sleeping could take so much work?

But their work does not help mine, as my irritability with my inability to find the right way to write grows, and the word-count drifts again. Still, there is evening left, and an empty house apart from those dreaming, so time to work some more.

* You shouldn't believe the whole not knitting thing, but I'm trying to re-categorize it as a reward. Or, I could just be collecting many many different styles of works-in-progress.