Proving Newton

In the interest of full disclosure, here it is: I am lazy by nature. I love naps (though I’ll defend the virtue of naps as necessary for everyone, not just the sloths), I love long, meandering walks with no end point especially if they involve ice cream and a view. I don’t have a five-year plan, I just kinda go with it. Sometimes I forget to pay my bills until I get the email notice from my bank that oops, I kinda didn’t look at my calendar for a week. They get paid, they just sometimes fall to the bottom of the “to do” list until I receive an electronic hand slap. I’m not always the most motivated person and I have come to understand celebrity, regardless of how much I think their relay of perceived talent might blow, as a sign of being driven and I admire it. That will never be me unless I stumbled backwards into notoriety or someone found this pile of random drivel and decided to publish it.

There are two asterisks to the above, however. One is that if I am passionate about something be it an experience, person, interest, etc. there is no letting off the throttle. I’ll pursue single-mindedly until it’s complete or abandoned fully, there is no gray. It’s rare that I find something which possesses me to that point but there are things, and people who can attest this truth, out there. I sometimes tunnel vision with extreme intent and ride the wave of inertia until thwarted.

For instance last night I was having dinner with my friend/boss Phil after a grueling 98-hour pay period (that’s mine, his was probably around 150) which resulted in four sold scooters in the last two days (that’s a lot for a small, brand new store in March). I had it in mind to go to Target and buy an entertainment center, table and rug from Lowes. Having moved in four months ago, there is absolutely no excuse to still use a banker’s box as a coffee table and pick DVDs out of shoe boxes on the floor. Thus, it was on my to-do list, even though it was rounding 9pm on a Saturday night. Thing is, we sat at the bar to dine and it so happened that an established regular named Wyatt began to chat us up. He and Phil became fast friends and after we bought him a round, he wanted to return the favor. I mentioned my Target plan but it was then 9:40 and Cleveland’s stores close at 10 on weekends rather than 11. I had to take stock of the moment and realize that we were providing this man with apparent much-needed company (widowed after 30 years, probably the only single man amongst his friends which helped him hold down our corner of the bar in their heydays, and a penchant for vintage motorcycles). He was charming and funny and he called me pretty so naturally I was keen on staying. Wyatt offered us a drink and Phil looked at me, asked what my Target plan was to which I shrugged, smiled and thanked Wyatt for his generosity. Another glass of Malbec, it is. It tugged at my planning OCD but luckily that tendency likes wine.

Asterisk two: Phil and I opened his second store on Tuesday. Typically I have Sundays and Mondays off, but with this insanely early summer we’re having, the scooter shop business is BOOMING.  We were caught off guard so the cushion we had wherein we’d gather items to take to the new store was pushed into off-hours. I worked a full 12 hours on Monday, we opened on Tuesday (another 12) and while it’s been quiet enough to set up this week it was also rife with computer glitches and missing parts orders. I am the only office/shop manager, the minutia is on me. Regardless of my desire for nap-as-reset-button, I have to guide the front end of the ship. Thankfully Phil’s done this before and knows much more than I, so I’m not alone.

Forced motivation. I have absolutely no choice but to wake up two hours early on workdays in order to go to the parent store to gather items for the week. I can’t call off sick unless I’m dying. I can’t take time away. I am basically married to the shop until the season dies down again. For someone who enjoys holidays and leisure, that hasn’t fully hit me yet and it may not be pretty when it does.

It feels good to be part of something, to be needed. I’ve suddenly begun to earn these naps I take. I can welcome my Sunday off by remaining in pajamas all dang day if I want to, on the couch with my fabulous new Roku player streaming Doctor Who or a plethora of movies in my Netflix. I can make coffee and read the paper at 3pm if I want to. I don’t have to think about work and if I do, it’s quickly vanquished with a scribble on a Post It Note. That coffee table, rug and entertainment center don’t seem quite so demanding of my time and money at the moment. It’s going on 2pm and I’m still in pj’s with the paper at my feet and The Doctor waiting for me to hit the ‘play’ button. It’s my day off and I’ve earned it. Finally. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to fully embrace the sloth.


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