On Work
I am avoiding work - again. I have essays to correct, grade, categorize, and otherwise violently tear to shreds in the name of "ACADEMIC STANDARDS". I find this work gratifying, but I avoid it nonetheless.
I am often at odds with myself over the drive to occupy my every fleeting moment with all manner of activity. From teaching, to correcting, to working out, and even to doing chores, I am often loathe to do anything but sit and stare uselessly at the TV, watching yet another installment of Journey Through The Solar System, or some such nonsense.
Of course, the entire time, I'm thinking, "get off your ass and do something!" And yet I persist in my efforts to do nothing. Why do I do this? Why do I do nothing and torture myself at the same time? I suppose it is because of the ethos in which I was raised. The idea has always been to avoid being labeled lazy. My whole life, I was never working enough, learning enough, traveling enough. It was always more, more more.
Now that I am an adult, I feel like I ought to enjoy my life a little, and so I have become a laziness fiend. Actually, I work weird hours, so the middle of the day for me, unlike so many other people, represents my down-time. The only break I get is between 1:30 and 5:30, and I try to come up with useful chores that need doing - of which there are plenty, but end up watching more Star Trek TNG, or, more accurately, sleeping through a few episodes with my dog, Pally, sleeping, dead-bug style on my chest.
Should I feel so guilty for not filling every waking moment with activity? Should I really be doing something with each second of my precious and waning time in conscious existence?
I suppose I don't think so. This is why I rebel against it, even while feeling bad about myself for doing it. Maybe my problem isn't that I don't do enough; it's that I don't allow myself to enjoy not doing anything.
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I am often at odds with myself over the drive to occupy my every fleeting moment with all manner of activity. From teaching, to correcting, to working out, and even to doing chores, I am often loathe to do anything but sit and stare uselessly at the TV, watching yet another installment of Journey Through The Solar System, or some such nonsense.
Of course, the entire time, I'm thinking, "get off your ass and do something!" And yet I persist in my efforts to do nothing. Why do I do this? Why do I do nothing and torture myself at the same time? I suppose it is because of the ethos in which I was raised. The idea has always been to avoid being labeled lazy. My whole life, I was never working enough, learning enough, traveling enough. It was always more, more more.
Now that I am an adult, I feel like I ought to enjoy my life a little, and so I have become a laziness fiend. Actually, I work weird hours, so the middle of the day for me, unlike so many other people, represents my down-time. The only break I get is between 1:30 and 5:30, and I try to come up with useful chores that need doing - of which there are plenty, but end up watching more Star Trek TNG, or, more accurately, sleeping through a few episodes with my dog, Pally, sleeping, dead-bug style on my chest.
Should I feel so guilty for not filling every waking moment with activity? Should I really be doing something with each second of my precious and waning time in conscious existence?
I suppose I don't think so. This is why I rebel against it, even while feeling bad about myself for doing it. Maybe my problem isn't that I don't do enough; it's that I don't allow myself to enjoy not doing anything.
Like this blog!
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