Work as leisure and leisure as work. Today is the first day of the second half of that handy maxim which keeps my house in order. The structured part of my year ends and an empty zone of ten weks begins. This is holiday; a painful time of year; an April with its cruel roots. Every morning I wake up to a desert.
Today I aim to slice the period up into units of work: bits of writing; bits of reading; bits of travel; bits of money-making if that becomes necessary. Making leisure into work. Does that make me a masochist? But no because, remember, I also have the competence of making work into leisure.