I awoke a bit earlier than usual this morning, booted up my iBook, started my usual pre-breakfast surf of the Web, and suddenly it hit me…I soooo don’t want any information today, except (maybe) the weather. I don’t want to know the news, don’t want to be in touch, don’t want to read anybody’s opinion of anything, don’t care about the Oscar nominations, don’t want to consider the short-term implications of the demise of the C train, don’t give a damn about what’s happening outside my front door. If I could, I’d cancel all my appointments, take the phone off the hook, ignore all incoming mail (including snail mail), skip my afternoon deadline, correct no proofs, blow off tonight’s Broadway press preview, and spend the rest of the day and night in a state of elective mutism, communing with the contents of the Teachout Museum and listening to music about which I have no plans to write.
Alas, I can’t do most of those things, or even very many of them. I have to schedule my days off well in advance, then defend them vigilantly against all comers. This isn’t one of them. What’s more, the mounting intensity of my desire to batten down the hatches suggests to me that I’m in severe need of more than just a day off. The world is too much with me, and I need to hole up and hide out for at least two consecutive days, preferably somewhere else. I can’t hear myself thinking. I need some silence.
Like I said, none of that is on the menu, not immediately. But at least I can turn off the incoming information tap all day long, and that’s my plan.
Now let’s see if I stick to it.
(P.S. Read. Ponder. Shudder.)