The Corner

Club for Sloth

If there is one thing that occasionally gets me thinking that perhaps my decision to come and live in the U.S.A. was a wrong one, it is the sheer energy of Americans.  You guys all seem to get so much done–dashing off 2,500-word essays filled with brilliant insights while I’m still sharpening pencils, yawning, scratching my bum, and wondering if it’s too early for a third cup of coffee.

It’s 11:15 a.m. and so far today I have got absolutely nothing done.  Oh, I have excuses–I’m never short of those!  I have a hangover (my dinner club met last night–heard a great talk by the blogger who calls himself Tigerhawk).  My son had to be walked to the bus stop.  His football kit, left to soak after last night’s practice, needed to be rinsed & hung to dry for tomorrow’s practice.  (You think I’m going to entrust Danny’s football kit to my wife?  A woman?  His football kit?  Pah!)  So far as earning a living, though, or improving myself in any way at all–physical, mental, or spiritual–October 20th is shaping up as a total bust.

Perhaps I should just accept that I am a lazy sod and stop fretting about it.  Gnothi seauton (which I am sure I have spelt wrong, but can’t be bothered to look it up) is supposed to be the beginning of wisdom.  Or perhaps I should make something of my sloth–write a book about it, to sit on the shelf with Jerome K. Jerome’s Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow, or Bertrand Russell’s In Praise of Idleness, or dear old Mugg’s Chronicles of Wasted Time.**   Nah, too much trouble.  I think I’ll go back to bed.

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** All Englishmen, I note with gathering gloom

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