Nothing Much

I've declared my Sundays a day of do nothing. Groans of 'alright for some' I hear from those who are washing, ironing, folding, wiping and windexing. I'm doing all those too but I declare that once that's done, I'll do nothing. Well not much more than reading a book anyway. But then why do I feel guilty? The fear of commitment goes beyond a mortgage and a marriage, it extends for me to team sports and group activities as well. The thought of getting up early on a Sunday to meet, do team things together is as appealing as watching someone else's child sing 'I Dream a Dream' in their school concert. As Monday slams into my next morning, without doubt there will be someone who goes to great length to describe their weekend activities starting from 5pm on Friday which usually goes along the lines of 'we had drinks with friends on Friday then a wedding on Saturday and friends over for dinner on Sunday no, nothing much...'. I'd need a week off after this, preferably in rehab. Does everything we do in this country involve booze? Whilst I come from a long line of alcohol appreciators and I've been known many years ago to give it a nudge or two in the attempt to prove my youthful uselessness, the open bottle of wine in my fridge these days will go off before I get to finish it. So when the question comes around on Monday I'll probably skim over the book reading bit and rely on the old 'quiet' weekend response as if my preferred option is a well fuelled joint social activity when in fact, I had a really lovely time. It's just a shame that do nothing needs to be say nothing as well.