the sin of sloth

Yesterday in Starbucks a man ahead of me in line was reminding me of Javier Badim, the killer dude in No Country For Old Men. (I only know that guy’s name because he’s in Us Weekly all the time sitting on beaches with Penelope Cruz.) He was looking around purposefully just like in the movie and I was getting progressively frightened-er of him as we stood around waiting for coffee. Then he suddenly lunged towards me! I gave a whimpery screech but he didn’t kill me, just gave me a compliment. I was relieved, and then tortured by whether I should be flattered by this or even more freaked out.



I’m already plotting the weekend because I need to get my sloth on. But how can I sloth around with all the activites I’ve plotted? When I’m slothing I want to be doing projects and when I’m doing projects I want to be slothful. It sucks. Well, while I’m tormenting myself about being horizontal and nonproductive, I will think about these things I want to do: crochet my brother a blanket, make bagels from scratch, pet some wiener dogs, drive out to Snoqualmie, read A Perfect Mess, watch The Great Escape, track down and buy that ‘80s song that goes “take a look at me nowwww…something something...just the memory of your face” that someone sang on the American Idol auditions last night, make my January mix cd and study for my credentials exam. Yup, studying is last on the list. It is so last. I want to overcome my apathy about it, but how?