Sloth (and Bailey's Irish Cream on a Bun)
The problem is not reconnaissance but recognition. It is not that one wants to be lazy, but that one cannot recognize that one is being indolent.
This morning I heard the alarm ring as if from afar off. I knew it was the alarm. I got up, I turned it off. I realized there were things to do. I knew they could wait till later. I lay down. And two hours melted away.
It's a bit like watching the local Public Utilities Board. They know this is a flood-prone region. They know the likely throughput. But they can't see the failure; they have done the walk, done the talk, and still can't see the problem — the problem is one of seeing but not seeing.
Think about a little granite knob in the sea. It is coated with lateritic clay soil, a bit like a rock bun covered in sticky icing. Very well, imagine a bun, then.
On top of the bun are grooves, inside the bun is limited porosity. Inside the bun are raisins, nuts, and (for some reason or other) tubes of water-proof chocolate which don't let water flow through them. Many tubes. Many raisins, many nuts. And strands of carrot, sometimes coconut. Whole sugar-lined trenches of delicious stuff.
Now do the unexpected. Have a flood, a deluge, make a mud-pie!
Pour something nice, like Bailey's Irish Cream, all over the bun. See how fast it drains away? Not. Yes, it pours down the sides. Yes, it pours into the grooves and the holes you make in the bun. But it doesn't flow through the bun the way it would flow through a sponge cake.
Why? Because we've put too much liquid-proof stuff in the bun, stuff that doesn't let the lovely creamy liqueur flow through the bun. It just puddles in the bun until it evaporates. Which would take a long time, even if we poked more holes in the bun. It will drown the raisins, float the nuts. Or drown the nuts and float the raisins.
I have such a great imagination. Even if I am half-asleep on what is now Sunday afternoon. Or maybe, because of it. Time to go on reconnaissance, while trying for recognition.
No, nobody said precognition. I'm sure of that.
This morning I heard the alarm ring as if from afar off. I knew it was the alarm. I got up, I turned it off. I realized there were things to do. I knew they could wait till later. I lay down. And two hours melted away.
It's a bit like watching the local Public Utilities Board. They know this is a flood-prone region. They know the likely throughput. But they can't see the failure; they have done the walk, done the talk, and still can't see the problem — the problem is one of seeing but not seeing.
Think about a little granite knob in the sea. It is coated with lateritic clay soil, a bit like a rock bun covered in sticky icing. Very well, imagine a bun, then.
On top of the bun are grooves, inside the bun is limited porosity. Inside the bun are raisins, nuts, and (for some reason or other) tubes of water-proof chocolate which don't let water flow through them. Many tubes. Many raisins, many nuts. And strands of carrot, sometimes coconut. Whole sugar-lined trenches of delicious stuff.
Now do the unexpected. Have a flood, a deluge, make a mud-pie!
Pour something nice, like Bailey's Irish Cream, all over the bun. See how fast it drains away? Not. Yes, it pours down the sides. Yes, it pours into the grooves and the holes you make in the bun. But it doesn't flow through the bun the way it would flow through a sponge cake.
Why? Because we've put too much liquid-proof stuff in the bun, stuff that doesn't let the lovely creamy liqueur flow through the bun. It just puddles in the bun until it evaporates. Which would take a long time, even if we poked more holes in the bun. It will drown the raisins, float the nuts. Or drown the nuts and float the raisins.
I have such a great imagination. Even if I am half-asleep on what is now Sunday afternoon. Or maybe, because of it. Time to go on reconnaissance, while trying for recognition.
No, nobody said precognition. I'm sure of that.
Labels: Food, Recognition
etched with acid at 4:22:00 pm
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