The Homer Gene.

I have an affliction. There I am, keeping busy as I generally have at least one project on the go and bimbleing along nicely, things are getting done and I'm feeling upbeat and positive. Then I seem to hit an imaginary wall and run out of steam. For no apparent reason I become lacklustre, demotivated and just can't be bothered. Even the things I enjoy become too much trouble and all I really want to do is eat and drink too much while lazing around watching DVDs. I call this trigger in my head my 'Homer gene'

I have named it after the popular, yellow cartoon character as it seems to mirror his slothful, overindulgent ways. Eating large pizzas until your stomach hurts and washing it down with Duff beer while the fabric of your life collapses around you seems like the way forward. Why waste your time striving, trying to keep fit and chasing rainbows when you could just chill out and hang loose man, what's it all for anyway? This lasts for a couple of days until the guilt kicks in and re-motivates me back to my normal, industrious lifestyle.

It's not depression. I know people with depression and it's nothing like as bad as the crushing, hopelessness true depressives feel. Churchill spoke of his 'black dog' mine's more of a pink Chihuahua. It's not despair, It's can't be arsed, like a really bad duvet day. If it has a scientific name it's probably something like
'Spooner's psychosomatic lassitudinal malaise syndrome'. I doubt that I'm the only person on the planet who suffers from this affliction. For some people it seems to be a career choice.

I'm sure I shall get re-inspired to get off the sofa and do something constructive in the next couple of days but, for now, I'm off to the fridge for another beer and a packet of pork pies while the adverts are on telly. I was going to write more but, quite frankly, I can't be bothered.

PS. This blog is apparently now on newsfeeds across the USA so if my regular commentators could avoid causing any diplomatic incidents it would be appreciated.