Am I Depressed or Just Lazy?
… nothing seems more ideal than taking a nap on my floor…
It’s Sunday afternoon; almost evening. The only thing productive I’ve done today is put my sheets in the washer.
I’ll probably put them back on the bed and vacuum my floor before the day’s over, but that may be it.
And right now, nothing seems more ideal than taking a nap on my floor. You know, the one I need to vacuum.
I’ve been in and out of Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom, and eyeballing Don Quixote and Plato’s Republic. But my attention span leaves me skeptical that I’ll finish any of them.
The latter two I started some 2 years ago and have yet to complete. I’d love to finish them, but I’m not altogether confident I understand them. Or that I’d be able to write about them.
To write a great work, fictional or otherwise, is a challenge I’d love to take on before I die. But first, I must read some; study them; make them part of me.
But of course, right now, I’m on my floor, contemplating a nap.
Am I depressed or just lazy? I don’t know. And I don’t know which I’d rather it be.
