I’m lazy. I’m lazy. I’m feeling so lazy and slothful. I’m lazy. I’m lazy. I just feel so darned lazy. I think I can’t move at all.
(I was imaging singing that to Patsy Cline’s tune, “Crazy.”)
It’s Sunday as I write this and I’m waiting for the Seahawks/Forty Niners’ football game to come on TV. Sam is lying on the floor, stretched out and snoring. It’s about three p.m. and the game doesn’t come on until 5:20. Us two guys are as slow-moving and torpid as a love-sick slug - or one that’s been thoroughly salted.
I like that word torpid. It is similar to apathetic, indolent, languorous, shiftless, slack, slothful, sluggard, inanimate, static, dead, catatonic and comatose. As I often like to say, “I had no motivastionals whatsoever.” I was curled up on the couch enjoying a nice Sunday nap until I started contemplating the word lazy.
According to a thing I read on the internet, the word lazy was coined around the 1540s and replaced the words slothful, and idle as the main words expressing the notion of "averse to work." But Sam and I aren’t averse to work, we just feel dull and indifferent, passive, comatose, yada, yada. Other good words for our condition are dilatory, flagging, languorous, supine and unconcerned.
I don’t know, I may be coming down with something. I feel sort of feverish and achy. I thought falling off the diet wagon and eating some cookies would make me feel better, but it didn’t. Dang! I hate it when those home remedies don’t work like they’re supposed to.
My condition may have been brought on by the rain. I am sort of averse to that because we’ve had such a nice warm, sunny summer. I’m not really ready for winter yet and even though it isn’t even officially fall, you can already feel old man winter breathing down our necks. Next thing you know the nights will be going dark at 4:30 in the afternoon. I hate that.
This morning we had our third thunder storm in as many weeks, which is pretty unusual. Leaves are starting to fall off our trees onto the ground and the rakes are starting to talk to me. Ugh! I might have to break down and buy myself a leaf blower this year. But where do I blow the leaves (into my neighbor’s yards)? Would that be like them allowing their dogs to poop on my lawn?
I have to tell you about our little neighbor baby before I close. She’s nine months old and she loves it when her mom and dad bring her over to our yard to filch a few raspberries. She only has one or two teeth, but you ought to see her gum those berries! She likes ‘em Mikey!
Before I sign off I have to tell you I have Kathleen searching the house for my old high school annuals. I’m headed to California next week to attend my 50-year reunion. Good Lord. Can I really be that old? Maybe that’s why I feel so lazy, lethargic, practically comatose. I hope today’s blog isn’t too scattered and obtuse (We’ll have to explore that word obtuse some day). Anyway, two bags of poop on feeling guilty about being lazy.
(I was imaging singing that to Patsy Cline’s tune, “Crazy.”)
It’s Sunday as I write this and I’m waiting for the Seahawks/Forty Niners’ football game to come on TV. Sam is lying on the floor, stretched out and snoring. It’s about three p.m. and the game doesn’t come on until 5:20. Us two guys are as slow-moving and torpid as a love-sick slug - or one that’s been thoroughly salted.
I like that word torpid. It is similar to apathetic, indolent, languorous, shiftless, slack, slothful, sluggard, inanimate, static, dead, catatonic and comatose. As I often like to say, “I had no motivastionals whatsoever.” I was curled up on the couch enjoying a nice Sunday nap until I started contemplating the word lazy.
According to a thing I read on the internet, the word lazy was coined around the 1540s and replaced the words slothful, and idle as the main words expressing the notion of "averse to work." But Sam and I aren’t averse to work, we just feel dull and indifferent, passive, comatose, yada, yada. Other good words for our condition are dilatory, flagging, languorous, supine and unconcerned.
I don’t know, I may be coming down with something. I feel sort of feverish and achy. I thought falling off the diet wagon and eating some cookies would make me feel better, but it didn’t. Dang! I hate it when those home remedies don’t work like they’re supposed to.
My condition may have been brought on by the rain. I am sort of averse to that because we’ve had such a nice warm, sunny summer. I’m not really ready for winter yet and even though it isn’t even officially fall, you can already feel old man winter breathing down our necks. Next thing you know the nights will be going dark at 4:30 in the afternoon. I hate that.
This morning we had our third thunder storm in as many weeks, which is pretty unusual. Leaves are starting to fall off our trees onto the ground and the rakes are starting to talk to me. Ugh! I might have to break down and buy myself a leaf blower this year. But where do I blow the leaves (into my neighbor’s yards)? Would that be like them allowing their dogs to poop on my lawn?
I have to tell you about our little neighbor baby before I close. She’s nine months old and she loves it when her mom and dad bring her over to our yard to filch a few raspberries. She only has one or two teeth, but you ought to see her gum those berries! She likes ‘em Mikey!
Before I sign off I have to tell you I have Kathleen searching the house for my old high school annuals. I’m headed to California next week to attend my 50-year reunion. Good Lord. Can I really be that old? Maybe that’s why I feel so lazy, lethargic, practically comatose. I hope today’s blog isn’t too scattered and obtuse (We’ll have to explore that word obtuse some day). Anyway, two bags of poop on feeling guilty about being lazy.
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