Fatuously and Ubiquitously Lazy

A throwaway comment when I was a teenager,  from an older woman I greatly admired, set the tone for my basic self image.  She had taken me to see "Cabaret" and, afterwards I sighed that I would love to be an actress and singer like Liza Minelli.  "You? - no chance!  You're far too lazy".  

Almost forty years later, I have started to question this assumption.  In fact, I have come to the conclusion that I might just as earnestly have taken on the comment from another admired older woman who exclaimed at how much weight I'd gained and was I pregnant?  I was about as much pregnant as I was lazy.   I hung on to the fat stamp, though.  "Fatness" is traditionally lumped together with laziness, isn't it?  Another myth. That one took years to sort out, too, but that's another story.

I first began to question my apparent slothfulness, in my late twenties, when challenged by my psychology lecturer during a class.  He was asking us how we saw ourselves, what we thought our weaknesses were.  While energetically and fervently lamenting my plight, I kicked the man next to me, who had all the while been unconsciously banging his foot against mine.  "Why did you just kick 'M'?".  "Because he was kicking me", I replied.  "Well then.  You're not lazy, are you? You took action."  That was a revelation and a relief, but was still not enough to convince me completely.

Only recently have I begun to see the truth in what was said.  I am not lazy.  Never was. 

It's more a matter of time-management.  During  maths lessons at primary school I expended lots of energy on finding new places to hide my books in order to avoid having to tackle the loathed subject.   No matter that my teacher saw right through me every time.  I could have saved myself a lot of stress by doing my piano theory homework in half an hour at home rather than hurriedly and in a state of panic, five minutes before my teacher arrived.

I've moved on since then. My therapist wanted me to do "homework" every week.  Keep a diary, make notes.  I laughed.  "I never bothered much with homework when I was a kid, and I'm not going to start now!".  Too lazy?  Not at all.  It took a lot of effort to stand up and be honest about myself.  Never mind that  I've been making up stories, songs and poems for as long as I can remember. Just try and stop me writing.   It would be superfluous to point out the irony in this, dear reader.  Add bolshy and stubborn to my list of failings why don't you.

I'm too busy for externally imposed assignments (and I enjoy provoking my therapist).  There are those daily tasks which I work so hard to put off until later, starting with my having to clear the kitchen sink at 6 a.m.before I can get to the tap to fill the kettle for my morning cup of tea.

Hours are spent looking for important pieces of paper which, had they been filed immediately, could also have been found tout de suite.  Adding insult to injury, there is the added expense of parking fines incurred because I couldn't be bothered to walk that little bit extra to get to my destination. The extra charges for delayed payment of mislaid bills.  All resulting in more searching and more work.  No lazy person would invest so much time and effort.

I try to use my laziness wisely.  I really do, but I'm far too taken up with deciding which project to tackle next.  B-J's socks, which I started knitting almost two years ago, that knitted square for the charity blanket, the sexy thongs for my photographer friend's website, and Mary's wrap.  This is just the tip of the iceberg.  Then there's the preparation for my English and French courses, the ubiquitous (I'm not sure what that word means, but I like it, so I'll use it) paperwork, the housework, the weeding, the phone calls which interrupt my cogitations as I try to decide whether to file this 'n that under A or Z?

As for the filing, nothing can be filed away before sections are created using coloured dividers.  Does this belong in the grammar or worksheet section?  Pink or red?  What to do?  Decisions decisions!  The file itself needs to be covered.  Not for me those dull,  grey eminences gracing the shelves. They must be adorned with pretty paper and coated with water (and tea and coffee) proof varnish.

Coloured clothes pegs have been banished from the washing line.  Plain wooden ones must suffice, otherwise hours are whiled away, colour-coordinating pegs and pegged.

Lazy - moi? Another word springs to mind, but I won't use it here.  Just call me "ubiquitous".  Not because it fits but because, as I said, I like it.  Should I file this word under "woody", or "titty"? (ref: Monty P).

Ho hum.  Back to work before I waste any more time blogging.  I should be so lucky.  Before I can even get started I have to rework the colour schemes.  Now, where did I file that quiche? ...