Idle Vice

I have usually got a sizeable number of reasons to feel shame. Oh not the grand shame of a serial poisoner or some other wickedness, just the normal common or garden variety. I’m thinking of the sort that stems from leaving the dishes in the sink. But there is ‘leaving the dishes’ and Leaving The Dishes!’ There’s a lot of difference … This morning I have more than my usual “fair share” of shame … though what’s fair about my terms of judgement I cannot say. We are, when all is said and done, our own most pitiless judges. My sister paid me a visit yesterday as family concern mounts over my financial solvency … if not my sanity. Reason to feel shame number one then. The general condition of the inside of my house has declined at a rate that resembled free-fall and which seemed generally oblivious of the concept of such a thing as “terminal velocity”. This is so important! I hate untidiness. I loathe dirt grime. But I do not seem to have a shred of a work ethic. Yes. When I force myself to clean up I sit down and admire my handiwork and I feel pleased with it … but a few days later when the clutter and dust begins to reassert itself I’m right back at square one. I can try to bombard myself with logic … go through all the reasons why the aphorisms concerning prognostication make perfect sense and then I step over the mess and go and do something pointlessly satisfying. I’m hopeless and beyond help.