A Fortnight of Organic Sloth

I love work. In the years of semi- or unemployment that hounded me after my graduation, a close friend always told me that work is to the soul what food is to the body. In those dark days, food for the body was a more urgent priority. But as I settled into the gracious luxury of enough that comes with a steady income, I discovered just how nourishing work can be to the soul. Work is purpose, connection, service. Work is active prayer answered in results.

And so, after another year of pouring my soul into my job, and squeezing just a little harder to wring out every remaining drop into my studies, I am delighted to have worked so hard, and accomplished a thing or two along the way. But now it is time to go underground ground and germinate new energy and new ideas. A fortnight of organic, chaotic sloth has begun: a chance to do exactly as I please in a last-ditch bout of belated adolescence, overhaul my routine, habitat, wardrobe and the spidery empire below the kitchen sink at whatever ungodly hour is my wont; watches and the whip of obligation packed far away.

Just for fourteen days and fourteen nights. After that, a return to the saltmines will be welcome.


I love work. In the years of semi- or unemployment that hounded me after my graduation, a close friend always told me that work is to the soul what food is to the body. In those dark days, food for the body was a more urgent priority. But as I settled into the gracious luxury of enough that comes with a steady income, I discovered just how nourishing work can be to the soul. Work is purpose, connection, service. Work is active prayer answered in results.

And so, after another year of pouring my soul into my job, and squeezing just a little harder to wring out every remaining drop into my studies, I am delighted to have worked so hard, and accomplished a thing or two along the way. But now it is time to go underground ground and germinate new energy and new ideas. A fortnight of organic, chaotic sloth has begun: a chance to do exactly as I please in a last-ditch bout of belated adolescence, overhaul my routine, habitat, wardrobe and the spidery empire below the kitchen sink at whatever ungodly hour is my wont; watches and the whip of obligation packed far away.

Just for fourteen days and fourteen nights. After that, a return to the saltmines will be welcome.