Ever since I was little I’ve done a dozen things at once. If I have the TV on, I’m usually reading or writing. If I have an extra 30 minutes, I figure I can clean or organize something. Part of me has always been of the mindset that if I have time, I need to fill it with something productive.
And for as much as I talk about being a lazy ass on the couch all the time, the truth of the matter is that I can’t tell you the last time I did actually stay in my pajamas and robe all day.
That’s just not how I roll.
But something odd has been happening lately. It’s like I have an angel wearing her thinking cap and carrying a Swiffer on one shoulder while a devil in a bath robe sits on the other, and all I want to do is tell the spastic angel to quit blocking the TV and go get me more tea.
In other words, my motivation to “carpe diem” the past few weeks has been replaced by an urge to “carpe the couch” and completely zone out.
I still go to work, to the gym, to all the places I need to go, but when I get home and have time to do the things I feel that I need to be doing—you know, trying to market whatever it is I should be marketing, writing, reinventing the wheel, etc.—the siren song of watching a brainless show or zoning out with reading outweighs my urge to produce.
Part of it is crippling depression and physical exhaustion—I know that much is true and possibly a future post—but dare I put a positive spin on it and say that in between those bouts I might just be (gasp) cutting myself some slack?!?
But of course there’s some guilt that I’m lazy or unambitious.
After all, I have the ability to write and create all that stuff, so that’s probably what I should do. And I also have the free time, more or less, so it’s pretty much sinful if I don’t fill that time up with stuff, right?
Part of me thinks that’s correct, that there’s so much more I should be doing. But then part of me thinks, “Bath robe all day!”
It takes a lot of energy to get through the daily grind. And although I don’t plan on making pajamas my outfit of choice, I’ve decided that I’m no longer ashamed to say that yes, I let myself zone out on the couch with tea and the ballgame/a “Chopped” marathon on Food Network sometimes instead of writing or “doing” something productive.
While I used to think I had to get up at 6am even on the weekends to avoid that “lazy” label I assigned to myself, I now proudly proclaim that I love sleep. Seeing as I’m up by 5 during the week, I look forward to bonding with my bed until at least 8am on the weekends with no guilt.
I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.
So even though I do still feel a little bit guilty I’m not “doing” more all the time—especially as it relates to writing—I figure when the words are there, I know it and it’s kind of hard to ignore.
The same goes for everything else.
It’s finding a balance between spastic Swiffer angel and demotivational devil and just “being” without looking at it as laziness. Instead, I’ll just consider myself to be conserving awesomeness until I ready to unleash it on the masses.
Possibly in my bath robe.
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