My spirit animal is a sloth

Lindsey, you’re lazy.

Why yes, I know that, thanks.

Some people prefer to be active, to do things, to be someone, but I much prefer the comfort of my bed, the peace of my pajamas. If I were to be abducted I’d by aliens I’d be lifted from the sky in my bathrobe like Arthur Dent saying good riddance, good riddance.

I got a call from my dad today telling me that my bank account was withdrawn. I already knew that, but hearing him on the other line talk tentatively, asking if I could handle this, stirred up my brain like soup—and today we will be serving gazpacho, please enjoy.

Bank accounts are not something that you can just wish away. Out of sight, out of mind doesn’t quite work in this realm of existence. Instead, the more you ignore it, the further down it goes, until you have overdraft fees and owe Bank of America hundreds of dollars. This is the price of negligence.

Yesterday Joseph-Gordon Levitt offered me a piece of advice on this television show I started watching called Hit Record. (Highly recommend if you want some inspiration.) In their first episode, all about the number one, he says that starting is always the hardest. And writers looking at that blank page should just go for it, because we’ll surprise ourselves at how much we have to say.

I started crying and shut the computer. I have much to say, but words seem an unfit garment for the human condition. There are things beyond comprehension, beyond words, but it is the writer’s call to do so. It is my calling to do so, or so I feel it is.

I’m happy to say that I opened the screen and vomited two pages worth of words that will evolve into Story Number Two. Turns out that I do have something to say.

I woke up at noon today, and am still in my pajamas. What’s a word for that?

Lazy? No, that’s too simple a word. That doesn’t express the full meaning of what I’m doing. I could get up, put on some clothes, and gallivant around the city, spending money I don’t have, and when I was through with it I’d return right here feeling emptier than when I left.

Trees are not lazy. They are firm, founded, grounded—that’s what I want to be. I don’t have to move very far, just reeeeeeeach out my branches.

I am reaching for air. When I open my palms there’s nothing there.

But what does air look like anyways? What’s a word that you can put to that?

What is in my hand?

Lindsey, you’re crazy.

Why yes, yes I know that, too.

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3 thoughts on “My spirit animal is a sloth

  1. Haha, “the price of negligence”…it really is! -sigh- I know what you mean and I can relate. I am the same way. I sleep in and write and stay up late and write. My bank account is low and I’m looking for steady work. -sob sob sob-

    P.S. How’s that letter coming along? ;P

    Like

    • It’s the struggle, isn’t it? And if you couldn’t tell, I’m a procrastinator and my life has been in a transitional period. However, if you’d wouldn’t mind my horrible lateness, I swear I’ll send it your way soon 🙂 A penpal would be so nice right about now.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Haha, absolutely no problem! I thought the mail was slow lol! Ah, procrastination. I have been trying to make myself do some writing before bed each night. It’s working so far….

        Like

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