Objects in motion tend to remain in motion: Objects at rest tend to remain at rest.
I've noticed these tendencies applied to my life. If I get up and get the laundry on, especially if I'm walking to the back of the house to hang it up on my landlady's clothesline, then I seem to also be able to get several other tasks done while all that is happening. I've written before about the necessity of keeping moving in the mornings, especially workday mornings.
Now, I know the law wasn't written about human bodies, but it seems to apply to them well enough. I have yet to see a skinny person lounging on the couch and rarely lifting a hand. And I certainly recall a time when I moved around plenty more than I'm doing these days! And, oddly enough, there's that coincidence that I used to weigh a little less back then as well...
Bu what's been astounding to me recently is the degree to which I can easily settle into a total lack of movement!
I seem to have taken "relaxing after a hard day's work" to catatonic depths! A friend of mine, long ago, gave me a Garfield cartoon depicting the orange tubby in classic repose, with the caption "If I were any lazier, I'd slip into a coma!"
Strikingly and eerily accurate!
Remember how I used to love to entertain? Well, lately, the only cooking I do is for Bijou. I used to say if I wasn't up making cat food, I wouldn't even be cooking for myself. Now I'm NOT even cooking for myself, despite a healthy appetite.
I remember an elderly lady, sort of a relative: the mother of my aunt's husband. Her name was Jean, and she was a wonderful Scottish pearl, of whom I have many pleasant memories. She was friends with my grandparents, and I remember hearing her say, many times when she was living alone, that she would "take a toast and tea" rather than go to the bother of making a full meal for herself. My grandparents would tell her time and again that this wasn't good for her, and I, who loved to eat often and well, would wonder how in the world anyone could do that to themselves.
Well, now I understand what she felt. And, like her, I don't like living alone.
Heck, I married (for the first time) when I was only 21. The ten years I was in-between marriages, raising my Daughter, were exquisitely lonesome, despite all the joy I had from watching her accomplishments. And despite all the mess and noise and total chaos in life with Hubby, it was, at least, company. (We get along much better now that we're not sharing the same space.)
Much as I enjoy having my personal space here in this apartment, it has no history. It was never "home" to anyone I love, or the scene of happy social gatherings like Easter dinners and boxing-day parties. And there is no one here, except the cat, to bother doing anything for. It's an apartment, a compartment, a storage box where I brought the essential objects I need for day-to-day life, and no more. It reflects the state of my life right now - an in-between space, an in-between time, a pit stop along the road of my life.
And so often I find that I don't care if I do anything or not, while I'm in this space. I have a very strong "what for?" reflex. There are times I don't even bother picking up the remote control to see what else is on, because I already know nothing interesting is going to pop up!
Well, I swear to you, I'm getting up off this couch (soon) and getting going around here, before I grow roots or something takes root in me. The time has come to stop being an object-at-rest before my time. Time to stop moping around and have some guests over and create a few happy memories of my stay here. So don't be surprised if you hear from me.
