I wouldn’t take it.
I’m talking about what The Myth of Laziness calls “output failure”. It’s essentially the failure to produce, despite knowing that you have to really get something done. Almost everyone I know has this problem, some worse than others, and I am among the worst I know. I sometimes even put off doing things I like doing, let alone the myriad things I don’t.
But it hasn’t made me any less unhappy with myself to find that I have some sort of syndrome, although to be fair to Dr. Levine, the book’s author, he doesn’t go in for that sort of excuse-making. I don’t actually care, I find, that there might be some sort of genetic predisposition to procrastination, and that I might be a victim instead of just lazy. Know what? I’m a victim of lots of things. I have a predisposition to like brunettes, yet I married a blonde. I suppose that could mean I’d be justified in having an affair. Just not my fault. It’s in my nature. Guess what? NO affair.
So I’m going to just buck up and get to work. How’s that for adulthood!