CHILLAXIN.....

It's been one of those months. More work, less days spent writing- and of course - the guilt comes scurrying in. That voice that says, loud and clear, 'and you call yourself a writer!' In just that tone of voice that implies you should hang your head in shame and give it all up.

I have written during the past month- a few poems, a short story, reworked a few old poems, submitted to an anthology, and scribbled over 4000 words on my YA novel - but still that voice persisted. Especially on one day. The day I did nothing.


Cats understand chillaxin. They do very little apart from the art of relaxation. Us humans, however, have this inbuilt guilt. We think of everything else we SHOULD be doing. The washing, ironing, house cleaning, clearing out those cupboards that haunt us, and heh ...even writing.


But sometimes we need to take a day off to recharge the batteries. To mope around the house, have a -dare I say cat nap? - to actually sit down and read in the afternoon without fearing the time-police rushing in to demand why you are wasting your limited and so precious time. Daring to sit outside in a ray of winter afternoon sun and enjoy a cuppa- to listen to the currajongs arguing in the fig tree - to see the spiderwebs transformed by mist into delicate strands of lace.

We all need to take the time to relax. To simple be. Without guilt, without the nagging of 'should be doings'...it's always interesting how inspired we can be after such a day.

Here's to chillaxin- as shown by Tigger Thornton.

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