i don’t know much about my family history or genealogy, and i’ve sometimes
regarded myself as a genealogical sociopath for the void of interest
in the matter that inhabits me. one word, though, that stands out in my
memory is the way my great-aunt described the Thomases. “You Thomases are
good people, you’re just lazy.” When seh told me taht I accepted it in a
folksy way. She was, I thought, 140 years old, so everything she said must
be golden. In time I disabused nyself of the notion that old people are
righteous an d wise just because they are old. And as regarded that
particular comment I didn’t have an opinion on its veracity. No one in my
immediate Thomasian orbit was particularly lazy, as far as I could tell.
The great-aunt was probably referring to earlier generations, those
forebears I never knew or about which I knew nothing. Most of the stories
I know from my father’s side of the family are grim. A lot of suicides, a
lot of deaths under questionable circumstances, and a lot of death
by alcohol. I’ve never known drinking like they did it on my dad’s side.
The only real exposure I had to it was in Atlanta, when I stayed with my
aunt and uncle for a couple of weeks. The uncle (my father’s twin brother)
drank, but he knew what he was doing. It was the aunt (not a blood
relative) who drank morning noon and night, waking up sharp and likeable
but disappearing into invalid-level incoherence drunkenness at the mere
smell of bourbon. That’s the only full-scale drunk I ever spent time with.
i have no idea if she was lazy, though, she had spent 30-something years
as an executive assistant to one or another CEO, or so it was described to
me. she may have been like the administrative assistants i knew at
corproate. if so then she spent 30-something years mastering the art of
pacing herself, of doing as little as possible, or working harder at not
working that at working. or maybe she worked like a slave all those years
and her retirement was her time to let it rip, let it wash away under
the blistering lava of pension-paid alcohol. (i have a pension coming. if
i make it to 63 i think i get about $300/month. i laughed when i got the
letter telling me this. i told my mother “I’ve got beer money for my
retirement!”)
i lay in bed this long morning,
impatient with another painful erection,
thinking about that word.
lazy.
i am lazy.
laziness has filled my hours.
we spend our hours the
way we spend our days, which is
how we spend our weeks, our years, our lives.
when the most recent ex and i would
wake up at 2pm i would say
“welcome to my lazy life.”
i said it with pride,
confidence,
a dull braggadocio.
now i mutter it to myself with disdain.
by some standards i am living a fantasy.
by others i am wasting the dream.