Arms and legs not dangling, doing something, even if that something isn’t needing to be done gives a minor sigh of having done. Things that do need doing are just complicating things that can’t be faced with half a brain or less of fullest comprehension, contemplation and resolve.
I am reading. I am writing. I’m not ironing, weeding, framing. I’m just doing, I am designing, I am calling things important. Lies can be prevarications–doesn’t that sound so much better?–and the slightest edge in gaining is a call for celebration, or a practice for the ballgame, either one.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology