I don’t know what I’m going to write about. I don’t really want to write at all. I want to finish reading The Colour by Rose Tremain. Instead I am making an effort to write something. But for me, writing means letting go of making an effort. Making an effort makes me angry. I don’t want to feel angry. I am too tired. I want to switch off and forget all about writing. But I haven’t switched off yet. The pen is moving across the page. But soon, it will stop. I don’t care enough to keep it going.

I stop, and read a few pages of The Colour. It is an amazing book. It holds my interest. Soon, I shall find out how it ends, what happens to the characters. But now I am writing again. I am writing in order to note my observations of what I do.

What I do is important. If it is not important, I do not do it. If I have nothing important to do, I do nothing. Nothing is important so it is important to do nothing, if the time is right.

I sit and wait.

After a time something comes to me to be done that is more important than doing nothing. So I stop doing nothing then, and do the thing that is more important. How do I know when one thing is more important than another? The answer to that is that if I am doing it, that is the proof that it is more important than doing anything else, or than doing nothing. If I am not doing a particular thing then that is proof that at that moment, it it is not important, although at another time it might be the most important thing in the world. Sometimes I know for sure that nothing at all is important, so that’s when I do nothing.