I am getting better at doing nothing, people. A few months ago I decided I needed to slow down a little. When I slowed down, I got depressed because, well, if you’re not busy then WHO ARE YOU!? But I pushed through and stayed determined to slow down.

At first I had to schedule my slowness. “This day I will not plan anything because I am going to relax. I am booked solid with relaxation!! I AM GOING TO KICK ASS AT CHILLING THAT DAY.” Stupid ambition. Where is the muthafuckin’ off switch?

I don’t know where it is, but I think my surgeon found it. Since my surgery, I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t have to schedule the relaxation and chilling out. Sunday morning I woke up, laid in bed for an hour, eventually got up and took a bath for an hour, then made a PBJ and got back in bed. Eventually I watched a nature documentary, took a nap, and had dinner with friends, but I was back in bed by 10:30 that night. There was no guilt. There was no scheduling. There was no relaxation ambition. I just did nothing and felt awesome.

I had this conversation with my mom after our house went on the market a few weeks ago where she was like “You just need to relax, girl. It’s been an intense week — er, month. Er, summer? No wait: year! It’s been an intense year for you, hasn’t it?”

Yes, it has. If you need me, I’ll be napping in a pair of dirty sweatpants until next spring.

(Oh wait: I have to move sometime in the next two weeks. We’re still not sure exactly when. But one can move in sweatpants! And then I’ll take a nap at the new place.)