SLUGGO

My wife and child went to Florida for five days for a family reunion and while they were gone I morphed into a big fat slob.
Now, sure, I took the dog on a couple of six mile runs, but more for her sake than mine, and I even did yard work one afternoon. But basically I spent the entire time lolling on the couch in the dark eating bowl after bowl of popcorn and watching basketball on the television. Occasionally I would stir from my stupor long enough to fix a meal, park myself in front of the computer playing Spider Solitaire, or go to the gym and soak in the Jacuzzi, but none of that can really be considered a gainful use of my time.
And when I thought of all the high-quality acts I could be performing, like painting a picture, discovering the cure for cancer, or even just sticking to a diet, it made me sort of disappointed with myself; but not enough to change my direction.
What it is about myself that makes me think I should be responding to some higher calling, when obviously the rest of the world is content to eat Pringles while lazily scratching themselves and watching Jersey Shore?
Is it my parochial school upbringing that makes me such an unrelenting judge of my life? Or good old American work ethic? Or is it just in my nature to carp incessantly about my perceived failures, all the while missing the bounty of what I have achieved, or, more likely, been blessed with?
I don’t pretend to understand this. And yet by now, you’d think I would have found at least a clue.
Something tells me I am probably not going to be finding a clue any time soon.
The noble Akita just wandered in from where she had been sunning herself on the deck and stood by my chair so I could scratch her butt just the way she likes.
She licked her chops and seemed strangely unencumbered by self study.