Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.
~ Alfred Tennyson, "The Lotus-Eaters"
I have a friend who is so lazy, when he fails to complete tasks he is responsible for he irrationally treats follow-up questions as if the asker were demanding secular prophesies from him. His boss: "You didn't show up for work - are you coming in today?" My lazy friend: "What am I, Nostradamus?"
I have another friend who has so little intrinsic motivation, that he will actively and eagerly argue with you that if you set out to fail at life, and succeed, you should be considered a success. He's been arguing in favor of it for so long, its not only his mantra, but his lifestyle.
Given my propensity for onanisic flagellantism I chose to walk a mile in their shoes rather than cavernously bray theoretical ruminations; their empirical eye is blind with apathy yet they attempt to establish themselves as rulers over the gaping entropic suck-hole they perceive life to be. Their words are only that, meaningless and without conviction, for their callow existence holds nothing more.
Therefore, this holiday weekend, I did nothing.
Nothing at all.
And found it to be magnificent.
The great error in Rip’s composition was an insuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable labor.
~ Washington Irving, "Rip Van Winkle"
One memorable day in particular, I arose from a near-geochronological slumber only to make it as far as my recliner where I sat until it was time to go back to bed. That was a perfect day. My four-days off work felt more like four months. It was as if an era had passed - as if I'd fallen asleep behind the wheel of H.G. Wells' Time Machine and awoke to an unfamiliar world, with only a hint of what was still lingering in the air.
I still summarily dismiss any notion that your area of responsibility is somehow governed by drunk seers making overtly vague predictions or that disfiguring your face so occupational armies won't desire you in an attempt to fulfill a gross misrepresentation of text implicitly designed to enact a bloodless coup of your soul is a good idea.
But I did thoroughly enjoy being as lazy as you. I really did. But now I hold a power over you. Until you've tasted the sweet nectar of success through hard work and attitude as I've tasted the bittersweet allure of aggressive indifference, your hollow words have no more strength behind them.
I did nothing and it was fantastic and incomprehensibly refreshing and it would've destroyed me had I let it. I don't know what animates your empty carcass, but your rotting flesh assaults my nostrils. Dying lonely and unhappy, even if that were my goal, is still dying lonely and unhappy. No matter how I present it to myself, in the end, I would still be a miserable, dead loser, and there's nothing you can say which would make me desire that.
Though from this point forward its going to be an uphill battle. It calls to me, and now that I've tasted blood I want more. But strength of character will win this battle, and if I must, will sate other desires to mask the din. But in having submersed myself in this adversity I've given myself a great advantage in that I will now be able to recognize the warning signs. Will you?
Thank you. Thank you for the opportunity to unhinge myself from my responsibilities and experience your void. It was both distracting and comforting. Like freezing to death.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~ Robert Frost, "Fire and Ice"