I'm lazy. There, I said it. (Okay, so maybe I've said it before. It's a running theme in my life.)
My house is not spotless.
Right now, the sink is full of dishes.
I'm working on the edits for a book I should've had done weeks ago.
I don't make fancy dinners. I don't create fancy desserts anymore. In fact, I'm happy opening a can of beef stew and slapping it on the stove. (Or microwaving a TV dinner, if there were better tasting cheap ones.)
This caused a bit of a clash when I first got married and went to live with my Type-A husband. Over the years, I've picked up the pace some and he slowed down a bit, so we could meet somewhere closer to the middle and have a clash-free life. (Actually, our clash-free life has more to do with him letting me be me and me letting him be him, but that's a whole nother story.)
It's not really a huge dealie-bob, this being lazy thing. I step up when I need to step up. Like when it was pouring rain and the water was running downhill toward our then-untreated foundation, I got out there with a shovel and helped Hubs dig a trench to direct the water off to one side. I will go wash the dishes later this morning. I always do. And I'll set my ass here on and off throughout the day (and the next and the next) until this editing round is complete.
But deep down, if I had my druthers, I'd be sitting in the recliner reading a book and watching TV all day. Or fishing. Or screwing off on the internet.
I sit here sometimes and see how other people are conducting their non-lazy lives. I stare at them in wonder. And sometimes I remind myself that I can change if I want to. Then I ramp up and work like the dickens and get a bunch of stuff done. After which, I burn out and do nothing for an extended period of time. They say new habits take 30 days to become entrenched. Eh. I've done months of ramped-up me and when the crash comes, it comes anyway.
So, I just have to accept that I am who I am. A Type-B (err... Type L?) person. And I'll get done what I need to get done when I need to get it done - and not a moment sooner. It might not make me the best-selling writer I want to be. It might not get me in House Beautiful. But it is what it is.
And now it's time to get off my lazy buns and wash the dishes - twelve hours late, but better late than never, right?