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The life of a sloth is the life for me

Oh, the plans I had for retirement. I was going to read more, play bridge, go for walks, do charity work, maybe embark on endevouring to write a novel. The list was endless.

They say a sloth sleeps for 15 hours and then sits still while awake in order to conserve energy. I think I might have been a sloth in a previous existence. I can sleep for hours and sit still for hours. I go to bed and lie awake thinking of all the things I'm going to do in the morning. Go back to the gym and tidy the shed were last night's plans. Then when I finally wake up, I lie in bed justifying to myself why I shouldn't do those things for another while. Too cold for the shed and slight twinge in my back with regard to the gym. There was a voice message on my phone the other day from the gym asking if I was interested in doing the marathon. Good God.

And then I swing my long slim legs over the side of the bed at about 11 o'clock, turn on the radio and sit. And sit. The only time I move is to light a fag, take my cholesterol and blood pressure tablets and cross my legs. And then I settle into a good long sit.

When I finally muster up enough energy to have a shower and get dressed, I go downstairs, make a cup of coffee and sit. I'm not even sure I'm thinking. No deep ruminating for me. I can just sit with a vacuum in my head. Pity I don't have one in my hand. My house might be a bit cleaner.

When I was working, I was super organised. I had a routine. Things had to be done. Now they don't. Everything can wait. And wait. I do go out and socialise a fair bit, but on the days that I don't, I just sit. It's an art in itself to sit for hours without a constructive thought in your head. And then I realise my book-club book should have been read and I panic because I haven't gotten around to it The book club and this piece are about the only deadlines I have, and I find them a struggle. Maybe it's time to get a job.

Sunday Independent