Nothing to Report / T. Roperot G. Nihton

I’m rounding the corner, entering the home-stretch, and finding that last bit of energy to push me through to the end.  Summer is almost here.  I’m finding it increasingly more and more difficult to resist the temptation to be busy.  Busy in a bad way that is.

In a way, idleness is important.  I mean of course a kind of open receptivity, not a slothful indolence.  Believe me, I know that it’s bad, yet I keep wanting to do that.  There’s nothing wrong with the occasional movie, a few drinks, good conversation, or crop dusting your roommates unawares.  I guess when these things happen to be getting in the way of the work that needs to be getting done, then they’re not not good, they’re just imprudently done.  Gosh, prudence.  Hair is not that fine–not are your secrets.

The other day in the parking lot I had a prudent moment.  I put up the sun shade, because I knew that it was going to get hot that day.  Later on, after work, when I slid into my vehicle, it was not as ridiculously hot as it could have been.  I have more imprudent moments than prudent moments.  Most of my prudent moments are really small and rather insignificant ones (e.g. not snoozing, putting up sunshade, not telling kids about who Susie Creamcheese is, etc.).  I like to think about these lesser prudent moments as being a bit more important than they are, because if you were imprudent for a lot of those little things, then you would find yourself in a world of hurt.  If I think about them as being important, I will want to do them: who wants to do things that aren’t meaningful, afterall?  I gotta learn to speak less, so that I can listen more.  Sitting in quietness is incredible, guys!  I have a few good things to say, and mostly I’m not autistic, so I don’t have a lot of great facts or stats that I can throw out with any kind of accuracy, so I stick to listening.  Usually when I start speaking, I get into trouble.  I also get into trouble whenever I start having “fun,” and not when I am doing good things that are pleasing.  And yet, fun is, nevertheless, fun.  I’m just sayin.’

Dey deyin,

PB