I read two beautiful books in a row where the protagonists do absolutely nothing. And I felt such kinship, because that's my natural inclination, too. Not so much these days, as I speed from daycare to work to Fresh n Easy and back, but looking at my life as a whole, I was much like Pauline in "La Chamade", living only for love and books, or maybe Graham in "The Informants," lounging at the beach, the meeting friends for dinner and drugs. It's a perversion of the Zen idea of just "being," as it's more like wasting, thick with lethargy and idleness.
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