I have been an embarrassing, shameful level of lazy lately. I mean EXTREMELY lazy. I will literally pay an $4.99 for an UberEats drivers to deliver a beef burrito bowl I could have driven five minutes to pick-up myself.
If I don’t order food, I’ll scrounge around for some semblance of a dinner in my refrigerator or pantry. Someone on Reddit finally made me realize the reason we repeatedly look in our refrigerator even though we know what’s in there and have already rejected it. What are we doing? What a desperate divorcee’ with 3 children and a bad dye job is doing when she swipes on Tinder—lowering our standards. And lately, my food standards have been very low.
I can survive on shredded sharp cheddar cheese and water for a couple nights. This is fine.
Getting up in the morning is my real struggle. I know I’m going to be late to work. I mentally berate myself for it, hoping a more aggressive inner monologue will motivate me.
Bruh, get up. Why can’t you adult right?
We have this conversation every morning.
You said you’d do it this time! Don’t you tap snooze again!
Rarely is the aggressive voice successful. A couple months ago, it only antagonized me in the morning, but now it follows me throughout the day.
I can’t stay focused at work. On moment, I’m sitting at my desk. Then, I’m up at my white board writing a list of to-do items to keep me on track. Then, I sit back at my desk and promptly ignoring the list by repeated checking my email, dealing with small, quick problems instead of the more drawn out laborious tasks that I can’t seem to focus on long enough to actually complete. When I try to force myself, it’s like my brain shuts off completely.
Work is the only thing that really brings me pleasure in my life, though. Despite these difficulties, somehow, I always manage to push through and keep going. My boss is happy. My employees still get what they need, so no one really notices that I’ve been sucking at my job for several weeks. But I’m afraid one day, they’ll realize I’ve been faking it instead of making it, and my charade will come crumbling down.
The voice constantly reiterates this.
You’re not doing enough.
You’re wasting time.
You suck and writing now; you’re out of practice.
That email barely makes sense.
They’re gonna know something’s up if you don’t get it together.
I’m just tired. I need rest. I’ll be better and more productive tomorrow. Also, I haven’t been eating well. I need a balanced meal if I’m going to get back on my A-game. I should go grocery shopping after work.
But instead, I find myself passing the turn to Publix and rolling on home, where I lie under my cover in my dark room and turn on a Netflix show, so it can watch me while I sleep at from 6 pm to 10 pm. I wake up, eat my cheese, drink my water, and rewind Supernatural to the last episode I remember. I watch it until I go back to sleep.
I’m so lazy that I don’t even want to get up to shower half the time. My house is getting progressively messier, but I can’t bring myself to clean anything. The mess really bothers me. It makes me feel bad. Why can’t I just get up and clean?
Man, what is wrong with you? This is really pathetic. There’s a list of things you should be doing.
You need to clean the house. You need to write that new chapter of your book. You need to stop missing your writers meetings. You need to stop procrastinating and do your homework earlier. You need to cook healthy food. You need to save money. You need to do something other than lie around all day.
What is wrong with you?
Finally, with tears streaming down my cheeks, arriving completely unannounced on a Saturday afternoon, I posed the question to SO.
“I literally don’t feel like doing anything. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve been like this for months.”
“That sounds like depression,” he answered.
Wow… That… actually makes a lot of sense.
I should call my therapist.