Workaholism
Once upon a time there was a man who liked to do nothing. He would get up whenever he pleased, put on whatever clothes he pleased, and then, after a brief stroll through the verdant groves outside his perch, he would come to his favorite cafe. He would sip his pensive coffee there, glancing now and then at the fresh newspaper neatly folded before him. Much of the morning passed in pleasant reverie out of which there rose now and then a sharply delicious half thought that would become full when he committed it to paper, something he rarely bothered to do. He was content to just sip at several cups of coffee until it was time for lunch at the house of one or the other of his many friends, who were also in the business of doing nothing. During lunch, he would test the thoughts he’d had during breakfast, and was gratified to get several new angles on them. In the afternoon, he would climb onto a grassy knoll and nap, having a number of notable dreams in the process, that would then add themselves to the thoughts born in the A.M. and grown in the P.M.. By evening he was brimming with energy and enthusiasm, and he would go to the bar, where the powerful thoughts he contained would spill forth in explosive abundance between more affluent but less imaginative people. No question about it, doing nothing was what suited him best, although he never had any money to pay either for his coffee or for his beer. Then one day, someone bought one of his do-nothing ideas, and asked him for another. After a few weeks, he started to do nothing on purpose, that is, he did nothing deliberately in order to get one of his great (and profitable) do-nothing ideas. He now had enough money to stop doing nothing. His walk to the cafe became brisker, less noticing of the verdant brilliance. The coffee was indifferent, and he started actually reading the newspaper he had merely enjoyed for its smell before. Even his friends, instead of conversation companions, became sounding boards. And his dreams got grim and apocalyptic. At the bar, he got into fights. And that’s the story of how this man became a workaholic. Instead of doing nothing he was always doing something. If you are like this man, my friend, if you like doing nothing, beware of those who’d pay you for it.
Andrei Codrescu
Zombification: Stories from National Public Radio