Today I ate a dosa, which is a thin pancake or crepe common in South India consisting of lentils and rice. My mother told me she made a dosa because she was too lazy to make Real Breakfast for us (whatever that is). I do not enjoy dosas much.
Laziness is, I think, Public Enemy Number Two. I think Anthony Bourdain put it best when he said, ‘There’s a guy inside me who wants to lay in bed and watch cartoons and old movies. My whole life is a series of stratagems to avoid and outwit that guy.’
In case you’re wondering, public enemy number one is mosquitoes (only my equatorial friends would understand).
I do not want to be lazy, but I am. It is an ethereal misconception; a poignant transcendence. To any physical reality that inextricably binds me thus to this Universe, I propose an abject refusal: I will not be tied down by those miscellaneous forces of all-powerful quiescence that compel my worthless inexistence to Reality and Work; I exist merely in the starry abstract of the mind’s impulsions. This world obdurately asserts itself onto my slight imagination, commanding that I leave behind some substantive oeuvre, some creative characterisation of my consciousness, some productive realization of my intellectual traversions; but all I wanna do is watch netflix and sleep and be That Guy.
I AM LAZY. And maybe you’re too. I’m not going to tell you that being lazy is good – we need to outwit That Guy. I find that what works for me is leaving my comfort zone, doing things like dancing or getting up early or being kind even when you feel like the grumpiest human being alive. What with this pandemic and all, I’m terrified of falling into the same routine for too long, because then my life invariably aligns into one timeless, meaningless inexistence and I cannot discern anything from anything and my consciousness is distilled into a blurry, abstract Nothing with zero hopes or aspirations and I start to stress eat.
My advice: Try new things! Go out! Explore! But who am I to give advice – it’s nine thirty on a Wednesday and I’m typing this from my mom’s room wearing two layers of sweatpants with one hand in a bag of nachos listening to OneRepublic.
Tomorrow I will brave the waters of Not My Comfort Zone Ocean, and eat another dosa.
Half-baked Bread Heads 