As surely as the sparks fly upward, I was born lazy.
* * *
Life reviews are a trap. Avoid self-analysis. The excursion will reveal uncomfortable truths better left buried. Ask your spouse instead. They have all the answers.
Be wary of any discussion about your moral failings. If trapped, simply blame anything close at hand for your predicament. Confess it, you were born that way. Blame your horoscope. Everyone has one and no one can refute this thesis. Today I blamed Amazon for being lazy.
Blame is on the tongue of us all. It’s the most convenient exit route to accusations true or false. Mostly false, for who can decipher anyone’s moral makeup? It answers to its own master.
It’s probably unfair to blame Amazon for being lazy. It’s the Ne plus ultima of marketing that lives and breathes inside a tiny sliver of silicon. It can defend itself. But today it’s the lowest hanging fruit that could be picked at the moment to escape explaining what he knows to be true…He’s just plain lazy.
He admits it. Admission of truth gives the conscience a good scrubbing. Cleanliness is, as is said, a condition for admission through the heavenly gates. And at this age, he thinks an awful lot about this.
Sometimes it’s hard to know whether one is lazy or just a perpetual procrastinator. After all, they’re identical twins, both born with a genetic flaw…dodging work. Neither knows the definition of ‘now.’ The only distinction is that ‘lazy’ needs motivation and waits for the ‘urge to hit it,’ like the roof is leaking.
‘Procrastination’ is more subtle, good at deflection. It’s motivated according to what strikes its fancy at the moment. As for the job at hand, well, Procrastination will get to it tomorrow.
Today is a nice winter day. A good day to sit around being lazy. Temperature perfect, not too cold, not too hot. But it’s getting hotter in the living room where a discussion ensues about his penchant of being lazy.
Picture the scene: A job is waiting for him. He sits quietly, waiting, thinking.
She: “Why are you sitting here? The job is outside, not in that chair.”
He: “I’m waiting, conserving energy. I have only so much to spare at this age.”
She: “As you so often say, ‘That dog won’t hunt.’ What are you waiting for?”
He: “Amazon.”
She: “Amazon? Why?”
He: “Amazon delivers. Tools for the job.”
She: ‘Home Depot sells all that.”
He: “Yeah, but…” ‘But’ opens the door for a multitude of exit routes, but before he can choose one, she cuts to the chase.
She: “Amazon has made you lazy.”
He: “Hey, look, lazy is a relative term, like cleanliness. It depends on perspective. Besides, people are genetically programmed to preserve energy. It’s an evolutionary trait.” The rebuttal falls flat. She reminds him that his family is genetically linked to Neanderthals.
She: “Now you listen. Amazon is just a scapegoat, a convenient place to lay the sins of your laziness. Fetch this, fetch that. It panders to your whims. You’re addicted to convenience.”
She has a point. It’s too easy to just let a finger on the keyboard do the shopping. No traffic, no wasting time wandering around looking for items at Walmart, no germs. He knows that the genie is out of the bottle and won’t go back. It’s voice even echoes to him in his dreams:
Your wish is my command
Your wish is my command
Your wish is my command
Your wish is my command
He looks at his watch, gets jittery. Tee time in 15 minutes. He has to end this conversation.
As it sometimes happens, his stars align. The doorbell rings. It’s Fed X. He opens the door, takes the box. Amazon comes through, his tools arrive.
He: “See, Amazon delivers. My tools are here.”
She: “Good. Now get to work.”
He: “Tomorrow, I promise. Tee time now.” In the distance a goat bleats.
* * *
Amazon made me lazy. What’s your excuse?
Bud Hearn
February 5, 2024