Nothing

As I walk through the door, plans for the rest of my day begin to form. I have homework; two and a half hours. I’ll probably want a snack, and then end up providing for everyone else; half an hour.  I make dinner; two hours, then one and a half more to eat. Laundry needs to be done, Easton’s too; maybe a half hour. So that’s seven hours in total. Ok, I’ll give myself one hour. Just one, all for me.

“Whatcha makin’?” says Easton, already implying he wants a snack.

“I don’t know…maybe grapes,” I say, “but I think I might make-“

“Me too!” yells dad. “And could you make some drinks? Like a mocha frappe!” Half an hour.

“I’m going to my room!” I announce. My nothing time is usually far from a marginal mean. Drawing. Singing. Gaming. Napping with my dog. Pondering life. I gather my school supplies and haul off to my sanctuary. Sloughing my book bag from my shoulders I toss myself on my bed. At the sound of my brother’s radio I trudge back to close the door, but not before Dewey prances through. I shut us in and spin around with a heavy sigh. It’s been five minutes and I’m not about to waste the remaining fifty-five.

I flip open my computer and make iTunes sing. As I practice my harmony I activate the Intuos, to turn a digital canvas into the outline of my favorite characters. But these tasks so often described as productive, calming, or leisurely, are relabeled when my dad busts in with the simplest question: “What are you doing?” Forty-five minutes remaining.

If we – those of us performing said task – find our doings to be of value, then we will reply with the name of the task at hand; “Cooking” “Homework”. But on those occasions when

we find our current obsession marginal, we give it up. We let it die and surrender ourselves to our interrogators with one simple word: “Nothing”

“Nothing” I say.

“Ok, I need you to help make dinner please.”

“Ok, what should I cook?” We begin to make our way to the kitchen, the dog at our heels.

“I bought steaks. Oh, that means mom would need chicken. Beans. Corn maybe? I’ll cut asparagus. That should be good.” Three and a half hours.

I run back to my haven. Music blaring, and the clock telling me to start my homework. History. English. Creative writing. Two and a half hours. I need a break. Surf the web. Play with Dewey. Tidy my room. Draw? No, not in the mood. Then I hear a knock. Its only been twenty  minutes.

“Yes?” I still have twenty-five left.

“Can I come in?” Its Grandma Coffee. Say no. Just finish your time. Its your time.

“Yes, whatcha need?”

“Can you help me with something? It’ll only take a minute.” No. It’ll be more, you know it will.

“Sure thing.” I smile. Forty-five minutes.

Passing the laundry room on the way in, I remember I need to put a load in the wash. I saunter to my room and trudge back with the moderate basket.

“Hey! What color are those? Red? I need stuff washed!” calls Easton.

“Yah, grab your stuff and bring it to the washer.” And again I’m stopped.

“Hey Babe! Can you wash my pajamas with those?” my mother chimes in.

“Yup. No prob.” Half an hour.

I still have twenty-five minutes, but its eleven. Ok so I'll surf Deviantart, that should take up just enough time. Ten minutes later, and I’m asleep at the mouse. I guess I'll just use those fifteen minutes tomorrow.