Lazy Days - May 2010

There is an old saying that goes something like this: “If you have something to do, get a busy person to do it.” I believed in that adage and practiced it as the soul of efficiency when I worked. My days were jam packed with meetings, my nights with errands and my weekends with chores, activities and friends. Though I usually worked late, I could still manage to squeeze in multiple stops on my way home – the supermarket, dry cleaners (that woman has yet to recover from my retirement; she still looks crushed whenever I make one of my infrequent stops there), library, gas station and the like. Once I ran to Macy’s for the first day of the two-day “1 Day Sale” and a button popped off my coat as I was getting out of the car. Knowing I had neither the time nor the skill to sew it back on properly, I simply bought a new coat. As the dark days of winter moved to the bright, sunny days of summer, I would leave work later and later, with my motto being, “It ain’t late if it’s still light.”

Oh, how times have changed.

What I used to squeeze into my ride home now can take a day. While I keep busy with lots of activities, I sometimes have days when I do absolutely nothing, and nobody does nothing better than me. As proof, I recall that many years ago I sprained my ankle and my sister stopped by to see how I was doing. She left and returned a few hours later, only to find me in exactly the same position on the couch. “You look like you haven’t moved since I left,” she commented. “I haven’t,” I admitted.

Unfortunately, on those lazy days, the less I do, the less I do.

There’s nothing in the house to eat, but I’ll have no motivation to get to the supermarket. There’s always tuna fish or an egg, I reason (except today, for example, when the last remaining egg expired two days ago despite its somewhat permanent residency in my fridge). Sometimes even when I do shop, I’ll refuse to go and get one more item because I have already been down that aisle once and I refuse to backtrack.

I never feel like shaving my legs, even though I’m in a bathing suit three days a week for water aerobics class (see, I am busy sometimes). Ah, those people won’t notice, I figure, and besides, how many of them have shaved their legs? And would I have noticed if they didn’t?

My foot doctor told me years ago that treating my plantar fasciitis requires that I stay off my feet, keep my feet up, cut down on shopping, etc. When no real improvement took place, he reiterated his instructions. “Doc,” I told him, “nobody you know stays off their feet more than I do.” I even have matching recliners – one in the family room and one in the bedroom – so my feet stay elevated and I am safely and comfortably lounging for as long as possible.

I believe some of this sloth characteristic must be genetic. My 17-year old soccer-playing nephew can lounge around in his pajamas all day on the couch, playing video games, unwashed and only possibly energetic enough to make a Pop Tart for lunch. I draw the line at that level of inactivity. In my house, I am always showered, dressed and the bed is made immediately when I get up.

I must be making up for lost time, for all those years of frenetic activity, rarely giving anything outside of work its due. Now I can leisurely devote an entire day (and a weekday, at that) to running around with my camera. I can actually read the newspaper on the day it is published, and I can read books before they are due back at the library. I have the chance to watch tons of movies and even exercise my writing muscles by reviewing each of them.

Sure there are days still packed with volunteer activities and appointments, with movies and lunch plans or dinner dates with friends. But, whenever possible, I spread out the activities, so they no longer get clumped together like they did when my time was so limited. I have developed my “The Kitchen Cabinet Theory of Time Management.” Figure it this way: No matter how many cabinets you have in your kitchen, you will always find plenty of stuff to fill them. Metaphorically speaking, whatever you have to do takes up the time in which you have to do it.

I admit to this kind of behavior not to evoke jealousy, as though I have the leisure time you wish you had, though you might take it that way. In fact, this is a therapeutic way for me to admit publicly that I can be a real slug, a trait I find less than desirable. But isn’t admitting it the first step in rehabbing it?

Nonetheless, this weekend we begin those “lazy, hazy, crazy” days of summer, where sloth seems more acceptable, especially if I can persuade friends who are available to join me around the pool. Our biggest decision will be whether to go into the pool or the hot tub, and that suits me just fine. I might even shave my legs. Just don’t look too closely.