I'm very bad at doing nothing. Twitter was, for all its problems, an excellent timesink: I was constantly learning new information, catching up on aspects of people's lives, or taking part in collective gallows' humour at whatever the fuck was happening in the UK now.
Coming off twitter, I found myself without a distraction, which is a double-edged sword. It's more time to myself, but then there was that compulsion to do something useful, something productive.
Covid intervened: my SO tested positive with it last week. With him unwell, I took over cooking duties and found, to my surprise, it wasn't as much of a chore as I remembered - that I actually enjoyed it.
Isn't it bizarre to realise you can just do things because you want to, not because you feel compelled?
I made batches of gigantes, turkey mince chili, and couscous sprinkled with roasted sunflower seeds. The experience reminded me I had a recipe book somewhere that I'd wanted to try out but never felt confident enough to use. Looking through it, chazuke feels like a relatively easy one to get started with. If I cook it next week (and that's a big if given my brain's whims), I'll post an update. It'd be nice to just enjoy doing something rather than feel a pressure to fill up time.
