Rest
====
The book 4000 weeks hit me pretty
hard. Between that and re-reading On The
Shortness of Life by grandpa crankypants
himself, Seneca, combined with starting
year three of the pandemic I'm starting
to realize that there's a lot about how
I spend my days worrying about
productivity and fearing "laziness"
that's just kind of stupid.

I'm not trying to be mean to myself I
just mean that it's wrongheaded,
foolish, silly.

Like this morning I was going to drag
myself out of bed, make myself start
answering emails, and Get To Work
despite the fact that I was so tired I
felt like I could barely hold my
eyes open.

Part of the problem of course is that
it's not like I'd be working very
quickly or usefully if I'd actually
started my workday at 7:00 instead of
9:00, I'd just be more tired and
miserable and likely to find myself
scrolling twitter without realizing I
was even doing it.

So I just laid back down for a bit,
dozed, had a cup of coffee, read while I
woke up, and now I'm actually able to
rub two braincells together.

Why did I ever think it was somehow
morally better to be at a computer
working even when it just meant I was
tired and depressed and accomplishing
nothing?