I appear to have spent my life horribly under-rating the art of inaction.

I’ve always scheduled my days tightly. I had a child pretty young, so I never got that chance in my 20s to do lazy weekends. As my city got more crowded over the years mornings became nothing more than a desperate countdown to get in the car and on the road by 5.45am.

Unemployment means the alarm goes off and I can lie in bed for half an hour, just drifting, running plots through my head and dreaming dialogue into being. Yesterday morning when I woke the spring rain thrummed on the garage roof loud enough to drown out the doves who roost in the Phoenix palms. Nothing hurt, I had bagels in the kitchen, and enough money to pay the mortgage this month. I floated in the space between waking and sleeping and it was perfect.

I want to let myself get used to this.