Sedentary

So, I'm sitting here, in bed, a lovely red blanket wrapped loosely around my naked torso, eagerly awaiting yet another episode of some show that I missed on television to finish buffering so I can sit back and be totally placated by something colorful and active.

I'm reading over that last line and realizing just how infantile it really seems.
Much like a newborn, all one must do to keep me quiet and happy is to lay me down in bed and place a lazily rotating mobile above me so that I can just watch its polychromatic dance.
Only my mobile is sex, violence, and witty repartee.

I wonder whether or not I should be alarmed by the plain and simple fact that I'm self-medicating my would be boredom with something not requiring much more than a few keystrokes and absolutely minimal brain function.

Then again, I could justify my behavior in saying that I'm quite aware of the innocuous nature of my current pastime and therefore find myself free from the clutches of its possibly harmful consequence: namely vegetablism.

If I know it and do it critically then I should be safe, right?

That's so full of loop holes that even I can see light coming through from the other side.
I guess if it were true I could be critically smoking right now. Critically eating nothing but sugar.
Critically stripping at Saturday Market.

The list goes on.

Regardless, the final point is that I really don't have any justification for sitting in bed, watching some television episode.

Ergo, I should get up and shower.
So I will.




After this episode.