sloth envy

Some mornings when Rich already had breakfast, solved inscrutable problems, shoveled the driveway, painted the house, travelled to the moon and back, achieving all this while I still blissfully slept, he would come into the bedroom and check for proof.


"Hmmm...surprised there are not three toes..." he would say.


But I could not be insulted.  In truth, if I could fill out an application, "Next Time Around," my choice #1 would be "Three-Toed Sloth."


Sloths are the world's slowest-moving mammal.  So sedentary, in fact, that National Geographic notes, "algae grows on its furry coat."  They sleep 15-20 hours a day; even when awake, they often remain motionless.  Sounds and sights do not disturb.  In his novel Life of Pi, Yann Martel writes, "the three-toed sloth lives a peaceful, vegetarian life in perfect harmony with its environment...upside-down yogis deep in meditation..."


What I would give for such an existence, these days.


Not that my life should be overly busy.  But grief plays with time, stretching a chore that should be one hour into four, and then slopping over into the next day when I won't remember where I left off, or why this was even necessary.  Such insanity, I'm assured, is normal. 


A well-adjusted sloth -- aren't they all? -- would proceed at the same pace as always, sleeping as always, hanging out as always, in a life untouched by agitated senses that remember and regret and, most of all, miss the touch of the creature who did it all.


Candace