How beautiful it is to do nothing
and then rest afterwards...

 Old Spanish Proverb

For someone who delights in unabashed busyness and dashing about pell-mell, I admit to feeling increasingly endeared by the concept of reclining upon my arse and doing nothing.
Well, very little that is, except for The Absolutely Necessary.

After having been consumed every night and day for the past week with one social engagement and another, I am feeling a little frayed.
My colours are beginning to run.  And I have become testy.
Not only have I found myself without the time to devote to my cruel mistress, "The Book"(She Who Demands to be Written) and indeed My Blog and all her friends, it appears there are areas of my home that have risen up in revolt against the lack of attention.

It was obvious this morning as I entered the kitchen that there was conspiracy afoot, my dishwasher, pantry and bench top all wearing the uncomfortable expression of contrived disregard. There was a harrumpff from the dishwasher as I stooped to empty her of residual detritus, a sniff and averted eyes from the bench top as I sprayed and wiped her clean of spillage. There was downright resistance from the pull-out pantry as my fingers fumbled to correct the disarray of her jumbled contents, but not until there was a frustrated whimper from my own direction did the situation become clear.

"I'd like to speak on behalf of all of us." ventured the dishwasher.

"Go ahead." I spoke.

"We are unhappy. They don't treat us like you do." she sniffed, a little trickle of water escaping her hinges. "When you're not here they slam us closed, they slop things on us and just leave them, and they're, they're - "

"Disrespectful." growled the stove. "I still bear their noodle sauce spillage of two nights ago."

"Hmmm," I agreed. "The boys."

There was a swell of disgruntled mumbling as their names were whispered around the kitchen, stories of injustice spat hastily, repeated with increasing fervour as evidence of the boys' monstrous crimes unfolded.
I surveyed the scene. Despite a couple of small unwiped spills, some crumbs in the corner and a discombobulation behind closed doors, it didn't look so offensive, really...
The twin smells of jealousy and abandonment hung in the air like sour fridge odour.

"You know" I offered, "It's not that bad."

Oh. Silence. A sniff. Sobbing from somewhere in the pantry. Narrowed, resentful eyes from the stove.

"But I'm home all day today so I'll give you all a thorough clean. Hmmm? How's that?"

A giggle. Gleeful tittering from the spice drawer. Spontaneous leakage from the tap. A visible swelling of the appliances.

"Ooh, it's so much better when you're around." trilled the dishwasher.

"We've missed you!" sang the bench top.

"I'm back." I said. "Now who's first?"

"Just hold on a minute there!" came a cry from the laundry.

"I can't tidy myself!!" bleated my dressing table.

"And I Demand To Be Written!" growled The Book.

Oh dear...

It appears my arse reclining will have to wait...
for The Absolutely Necessary demands my attention. Now.
And all too often lately; for the concept of "Necessary" is one riddled with ambiguity, swollen with guilt and so dangerously ill-defined.
So necessarily unavoidable.

Til then I will dream..
of that one quiet, guiltless day..
and ah, how beautiful it will be to do Absolutely Nothing. Nil. Nada.
Sweet Fanny Adams.
And then rest afterwards...

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