I broke down today and found myself driven by a combination of pique and boredom to brave the madness that is Eastsound town in early August. The crowds were acceptably dense, allowing at least a little room on the pavements to stand and contemplate the available menu of my favorite coffee house. Even on these hottest days I take the trouble to dress reasonably, presentably, not reducing my wardrobe to excruciating casualness, as is the common practice of the universe as it is obliged to sweat profusely.
Cabin fever is the popular anacronym for such an overwhelming feeling of wastefulness, something you would imagine might be occasionally quite welcome rather than invariably psychologically debilitating. The human beast does appear to be most comfortable pulling the plough, rather than resting beneath the boughs or a lush trees.
I do practice indolence with great attention, attempting to demonstrate the artistry of retirement with absolute perfection. Slothfulness should be considered a goal for those of advanced years.