Some days I don’t want to do anything. I wake up and wish I hadn’t. I hide under my covers and make a small air hole to breathe out of. I am now in stasis.

In this state I cannot go on indefinitely. There is always something that inevitably requires attention and it is more often than not one of two internal organs.

Firstly, my bladder. I can only go so long before I have to pee. I can try and repress it but my bladder will always win. Every goddamn time. Resistance is futile.

Secondly, my stomach.

I get hungry and there is not yet room service to bring me meals to my bed. I wish there was someone that could come into my room and leave a tray with a grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of hot tomato and gin soup outside my bed and then go away perhaps taking my laundry with them for washing, drying and folding. Unfortunately, I don’t yet have a butler, valet, boyfriend, housekeeper, aide or otherwise that does such things for me. Nor do I yet have the privilege of picking up the phone and pressing 0 for any of the aforementioned services.

One and/or both of these bodily needs require me to break out of my goose down cocoon and venture out into the world. The world can be a harsh scary place and my feet get cold easily.

Once I’m out of bed after breakfast I start to think of all the things that I need to do: laundry, gym, clean up breakfast mess (still no housekeeping), emails, phone calls, errands, and all the other day to day things that make being an adult so much fun.

I don’t want to do any of it, I just want to go back to bed. I don’t want to do anything, I want to do nothing. I want to hide in my bed under my covers and pretend that an army of people are going to take care of everything and I can just hide in my bed and eat gummy bears and watch David Attenborough documentaries about insects and the ocean and plants and experience the whole wide world and all of its wonders from the safety and warmth of my bed.

Sometimes I like bite off their little gummy bear heads, and then bite their little squishy fruity bodies in half and after that I smoosh their little sticky gummy bear parts together to form a mutant gummy bear army. Then I eat them all.

I would happily do this if it were not for a part of me that starts to nag. It starts out quietly. It says,

“get up and go to the gym, you need to go”

Then it gets a little louder,

“get up and go to the gym or you won’t get muscles and then nobody will like you”.

And then it’s so loud that I can not ignore it,

“get up you lazy fat peace of shit you are failing at life and you just ate an entire bag of gummy bears. Look you even spilt some in your bed and now you’re in bed with food and you are pretty much one grilled cheese sandwich away from becoming the grotesquely and morbidly obese bed-ridden mother from the movie What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.”

I think to myself get up or you’ll fail at life and become nothing. I get up and go to the gym because even if I’m going to be a nothing I may as well look good doing it. I tell myself “don’t be a big nothing, be a fit something.”

-the end-