I confess—I have been making some serious ‘buttprints’ all over the place during the last few weeks (in the sands of time . . . on my couch . . . in my bed . . . )  In fact, I have spent so much time sitting (or lying) on my (rather ample) behind that I can no longer even make a pretence of any kind of forward momentum.  Actually, I can’t make a pretence of movement in any direction at all really—forwards, backwards, up or down . . .

In my defence I should point out that I am at the moment recovering (dear God, please let me be recovering) from my second (or is it my third?) bout of that really nasty flu that has been rampaging around the country this winter (apparently the flu shot I had earlier in the year was only effective for last year’s model) but even for me, who usually needs little or no excuse to do the absolute bare minimum, my current state of inertia is at a whole new level.

Normally when feeling somewhat under the weather I do what so many of us do—suck it up and soldier on.  I mean, it’s just a cold, or a cough, or the sniffles.  No big deal.  Right?  Well, not this time.  This time my body made it perfectly (and painfully) clear that we were having none of that ‘carry-on-regardless’ crap.  We were going nowhere.  Consequently (and because I really had no other option) I decided to be kind to myself.  I had some time off work.  I took the tablets, drank the medicine, wrapped myself (along with a trio of incredibly solicitious puppies) in blankets and slept.  And slept.  And slept.  I literally had no energy for anything else.  I did no reading, no writing, no sketching, no exercise.  I don’t think I even did any thinking (or at least none that I can recall . . . )

Two weeks later and I finally seem to be coming out of the other side.  I am on my feet again but apart from that there still appears to be little discernible sign of movement.   I feel like someone needs to wind me up to get me started again.  I mean, I should be doing something—anything—again by now.  Shouldn’t I?  (I should be writing, although I can’t think of a thing to say.  I should be sketching, although I can’t think of anything to draw.  I should start exercising again, although just getting the dogs across the park and back in the afternoon seems to be stretching me to my limits . . . )

You know Isaac Newton said (paraphrasing here) ‘‘An object at rest (i.e. me) will remain at rest until acted on by an outside force.”  And really—who am I to argue with Isaac Newton?  So, perhaps all I really need to do is take a few more days and wait for that inevitable intervention from an ‘outside force’ . . .

That sounds good to me.  That sounds like a plan.  And if I happen to make a couple more buttprints around the place before that happens . . . well, I guess the sands of time and I will just have to live with that . . .