I am bad at doing things. Yes, I know this is vague, but it’s intentionally so. When I’m around people, I put on a pretty good show of being this whirlwind of activity who always has things to occupy my time. But when I actually get handed huge heaping dollops of time…all of those wonderfully productive activities I’d been jotting down on my mental list for hours or days beforehand suddenly get wiped off by the giant eraser hiding in my subconscious and I can think of nothing worthwhile to do. Therefore, I usually end up spending my snow days/time-on-weekends-when-not-working doing one of the following things:
-Sleeping. This generally occurs in my bed, but can also spontaneously occur on that devastatingly comfortable leather couch with a view of the television or own the ripped sheepskin rug directly in front of the wood-fire (aka the only source of heat since I swear our central heating system is BROKEN. Ugh. I can haz April now?).
-Reading. When I feel like being intellectual, I’ll dig my way into a book and stay there for awhile. The annoying thing about my current reading habits (or, sadly, lack thereof) is that whenever I try to read my body decides to start sending me signals that it would be rather doing the above activity^. The last book I read cover to cover (something I’m trying to get myself to do more often, Resolution-style) was As The Great World Spins by Colum McCann. I’m still a little bit overwhelmed by the sheer scope of the novel, which, not to spoil anything, paints intimate portraits of 12 subtly interconnected people living out their radically different lives in NYC circa 1974(3?), unaware of the webs that bind them together, all while a spontaneous cross-Manhattan tightrope walk unites the city in a more visible way. These people range from a computer hacker using the new ARPAnet to reverse connections and call pay phones to hear the latest news about the rumored aerial stunt, to a tripped-out artist trying to put the pieces of her life back into some semblance of meaning, to a rich housewife trying (with varying degrees of success) to cross class lines to mourn her son’s death with other surviving mothers. I’ll stop, since I realize I’m starting to sound like a dust-jacket summary, but this was a delicious book with utterly gorgeous prose that tied together different voices in one of my favorite literary strategies of all time.
-Eating. I know, I know, not a good habit. But honestly, whichever of you HASN’T ever grabbed a tub of Edy’s from the fridge and proceeded to attack it with a spoon while vegging on the couch can throw the first stone. Anyone? That’s what I thought
-Listening to podcasts. Since I’m a nerd, this usually consists of political shows (which make me feel informed, suicidal, and homicidal by turns), history shows (Of course I didn’t once listen to a 7-part podcast that retold and analyzed the history of the British Empire for a straight week..), and random culture/literature/conversation shows. Occasionally, I listen to one of Slate.com’s several podcasts, which I enjoy except for the fact that every single one of those hosts has a vocabulary that Merriam Webster would commit assault with a deadly dictionary for, and enjoys flaunting that fact, so when I listen to too many of those consecutively the underlying elitist condescension can start to clog my mental arteries with annoyance.
-Youtube hopping (v)- The act or practice of going to Youtube intending to watch one video, and then proceeding to while away huge swaths of time by clicking on the “Related videos” or “More from ____” playlists. This consumes startling amounts of my time if I’m not careful…
One funny story about the last of these wretchedly wonderful time-wasters: Just now, I was youtube hopping from the Vlogbrothers, and Sophie (adorable 16-week old kitten) perched herself on my shoulder and started watching John Green talk through a box on my screen. Also, when I first picked her up from her former home, Sophie wouldn’t stop crying, and so in my frantic efforts to make the ball of fuzz in the carrier stop making me feel like a sadist, I started singing “The Weapon” by Harry and the Potters…and she stopped mewing pitifully.
The conclusion of this highly disjointed blog: My cat is a Nerdfighter, and I’m a lazy bum.
I’m going to go get dressed for work, so I can check out drunken college students at the grocery store for 6.5 hours minus a state-mandated half-hour lunch.
Peace. Love. Happiness. Kittens.
Cody
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