I have boundless admiration for people who work hard at whatever they do, whether it's a career or a hobby or an art. I've always wanted to be one of those people who never seemed to sit still, who blaze through the house like a tornado in reverse and leave a trail of organization and creative genius in their wake. My personality seems to fit the role-- I'm passionate to an extreme degree, I see my home as my own personal blank canvas, and I like waking up fairly early. But you know what, folks?
I am lazy.
There, after two decades of being in denial, I'm finally committing it to print. Laugh if you like; this is not easy. Seriously. At every turn in my life, I try to make the choice that a hardworking person would make, and I've been telling myself that this means I'm a hard worker, too. I've been hauling around two decades' worth of guilt over silly things that it turns out I really enjoy doing:
staring out of the window and watching the neighbors
taking two hours to finish a cup of tea
extending my shower by a good ten minutes after I've finished washing
poking around on the internet and reading cheesy advice columns
looking at my own photo albums ad nauseum
hemming and hawing about what shoes to wear
eating food because I'm bored
Without getting too introspective, here's the conclusion I've reached: somewhere along the line I seem to have decided that lazy activities have less value than hardworking activities, when in truth I think I need a good helping of both in my life. I'll still try my very best to be an industrious person, but I have decided to stop flagellating myself for those moments when I realize I've just been blissfully spacing out. With those moments occurring less and less frequently anyway, I'll chalk it up to a quality of life issue and just enjoy it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to ignore the laundry while eating ice cream and staring at the TV.