I have recently done a lot of nothing much. And before that, a lot of sitting. (While thousands & thousands of feet up in the air, but still, I was occupying myself with looking out the window and listening to the woman next to me sing along to the Michael Jackson memorial concert. And occasionally peeking into my novel. (For some reason I have a hard time reading on planes.))
And before that, a lot of sitting. (While in a car, then on a beach, then back in the car.)
And before that, a lot of sitting. (While in a car which was meandering through the positively gorgeous Great Smoky Mountains National Park.)
The in-between bits were actually most excellent, with time spent with my fabulously wonderful (or wondrously fabulous?) D.C. friend, learning about the history of the Cherokee, getting sunburned on beaches with ponies and dolphins in the distance, then visiting notable D.C. sites, such as Ford's Theatre and the heartbreaking Holocaust Museum.
And now I play with children and contemplate searching for jobs. But mostly I'm not getting anything much done. I'll buckle down and work on stuff later, I'm sure. Maybe when the little nephews go down for a nap.