There used to be a time when I would wake up at three in the afternoon, loaf around for an hour, write part of a blog entry, watch a couple of bad movies and then call it a day. And what glorious days they were: unemployed, lacking ambition and entirely incapable of getting even the smallest tasks done.
And now look at me: I get up no later than 7am, even on days when I’m not working. I do chores (occasionally) voluntarily. I write, if not every day, then every other day. And not just fiction either, but I’ve also started taking my blog more seriously. I run errands. I’m maintaining (mostly) a regular exercise schedule. I’m gettin shit done, by golly.
The problem is that, now, if I don’t spend my days off trying to get as much done as humanly possible, I feel awful. I feel really awful. Yesterday, I made a loaf of bread (with a machine), filed my taxes, ran most of a mile, wrote 1500 words and a blog entry. That’s it. I feel ashamed. I feel really, really bad about the two hours I spent on video games. I should have done more. I’m actually gad I’m going to work today, if only because that means I’ll be getting things done.
When did I lose the ability to be lazy guiltfree? It gnaws at me now; all those unfinished tasks, the unfulfilled potential of that now lost Monday. In order to get back to the way it was, I’m going to have to institute a strict laziness schedule. Between the end of my shift and bedtime, I’ll need to take at least three naps.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get back to the way I was. But, with a lot of work, I think I can get back to being pretty damn lazy.
Wish me luck.