Showing posts with label sloth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sloth. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 23, 2014


The webmistress of Return of Queens has promised that readers will be treated to an exposition of each Deadly Sin in the near future.  So far the Queens have tackled "Envy" (that is, the envy of feminists women of other women), and "Gluttony."

Now, looking at me, you would naturally assume that I was most afflicted by the the sin of Gluttony.  It's manifestly true that I eat too much and too often.  I joke that a day doesn't go by that I don't consume something from each of the Four Major Food Groups:  (1) chocolate, (2) cheese, (3) caffeine, and (4) alcohol.  

It isn't that I don't know better, either.  I have a college education I watch enough television to know perfectly well that a "proper" serving of meat is the size of a deck of cards, not a 12 ounce slab of tenderloin (Make mine rare!).  But who wants to eat a deck of cards?  I know that an array of fresh, lightly steamed vegetables should be adding the color to my diet, not a random bag of Skittles.  I know nuts are an excellent source of protein, but seriously, who can confine a serving of those to "five almonds" (unless they're really stale)?

"Ladies, obesity isn’t pretty.  It isn’t lady like.  Its not Queen like.  Obesity is (among other things) a disease of gluttony.  Gluttony is my pet peeve because it indicates a lack of self control.  We as women should be known for self control, and the ability to monitor our urges."  

The problem is that as soon as someone starts admonishing me to exercise "self-control" over my various "urges", my Inner Child digs in her heels and begins to howl vociferously in protest.  

Look, I've lost over one hundred pounds.  Twice.  So I am not incapable of extraordinary self-discipline for months at a stretch.  What I can't figure out is how to sustain the desire to exert that degree of self-control every day for the rest of my life.

I just sat through a lecture, part of the "Six Weeks to a Healthier You" that my school sponsors every spring.  Of course, there was not fact or figure (BMI, calorie counts, longevity tables... zzzz) that was new to me (nor to any of the other anxious Baby Boomers filling the hall).  I was there to pick up my free water bottle, grocery coupons, and discounted athletic club membership.  What I need is to want to do the things I already know will make me "healthier."  No dietician or personal trainer can give me that kind of motivation.  I guess that's what shrinks and clergy and lovers are for.

As for obesity not being "queen like," may I introduce you to Catherine the Great?
Catherine II
She was not crushed by a horse.
How about Queen Victoria, then?
Even in her youth, you could see the fat lady waiting to emerge.
ROQ's notion of "queen like" figures may be based on Disney fantasies and "Game of Thrones," but history shows us that plenty of fat gals have commanded nations in their day.  It's only in the past 100 years that a svelte physique has been the hallmark of class and status.  

All right, I'll concede that "obesity isn't pretty" even though a lot of fat women are.  And it's rough on one's knees.  I'll concede that I suffer from the sin of Gluttony, big time.  (There, are you happy now, you sanctimonious twats?)

However, I steadfastly deny that Gluttony is my worst offense.

My worst sin is Sloth. 

Now, by "sloth" I don't mean mere physical laziness, although it's generally true that I would much rather curl up in bed with a pile of magazines than do... well, just about anything else you can name.

By "sloth" I mean "dejection and listlessness."  In other words, probably what a lot of people nowadays call "depression."  Sloth, then, is a manifestation of a kind of despair and helplessness.  It causes me to withdraw from others because their presence makes more demands of me than I am able willing to respond to. It causes me to internally shrug at the bazillion brain cells I am blithely killing with each martini I imbibe.  The boredom I often complain of is just another word for "sloth."

My friend's death last weekend, last night's foray into "activism" are reminding me that Sloth really is My Worst Deadly Sin.

Of course, I'll have to wait to learn what the Queens have to say when they weigh in on the subject.