I’m one of the laziest people I know. Given the choice between reaching over to the coffee table for the remote to lower the television to a more reasonable volume or staying reclined and slowly going deaf, I’ll choose the latter nine times out of ten.

Most people don’t think I’m lazy. Also, most people don’t know me that well.

I’m lazy. Also, so are you.

Yep. I bet there’s at least 37 other things you should be doing in stead of reading this. But you’re not because reading this is easier and/or more enjoyable for you.

(Thanks for reading, by the way!)

Do you believe litter is a bad thing? Yes? Me too! Now think about the last time you spotted litter on the sidewalk in front of your neighbor’s house or outside your favorite comic book store (because you read comic books).

Did you pick it up? Of course you didn’t! Oh wait, you did? Okay, Captain Planet, how many times out of 10 do you actually stop to pick up litter when you see it?

1? 2, maybe, if you’re in line for the priesthood?

But you know litter is a bad thing and should be removed. Intuitively you know picking it up is in alignment with your values and would satisfy your conscience. So why don’t you do it at least 80% of the time? Do you actually like litter?

Of course not. It’s because you, my friend, are a lazy piece of

person.

And your lazy score is in direct proportion to how many times each day you say, “Fudge it.”

Turns out it’s really fun to say. Most of us work as hard as we do for as long as we do only to get to that point of the day or week when we can finally say…

“Fudge it.”

I think we’re addicted to not giving a fudge.

Your “fudge its” come in bite-sized pieces. They’re stored in your pocket like a pack of nicotine gum. Ready to be undressed and masticated any time a slight craving of hard work, discomfort or sacrifice sneaks up on you. Mmmmm. Tilt your head back and close your eyes. Liberation never tasted so good. While you’re at it, why don’t you treat yourself to a recliner and a season or two of Game of Thrones?

Additionally, “fudge its” are like pizza longs or shares of responsibility in a corporate setting. They’re better when shared. No one loves the company of a fudge-iter better than a fellow fudge-iter. “Because like, everyone else feels the same way, bro.”

But of course, the fudge has a shadow side. As much as it delights your taste buds, eat too much of it and your clothes start shrinking.

The fudge loves the bait and switch.

And that’s when it clamps down. You see, fudge its are addicting. The more you say them the easier they become to say. The harder they become to resist. The more you trick yourself into thinking you’ve earned them.

(You’re lazy, remember?)

I said “fudge it” to writing for The Sea Log for like four months now. At first I thought it was okay because I was focusing more on other things.

Then came, “Maybe I should write one.”

And then, “I’ll write one when I think of an idea.”

I basically ponged back and forth between those two thoughts until I realized I got fat from the fudge its.

(Because I’m lazy, remember?)

I guess it doesn’t hurt to be reminded how even the simplest of reflexes can quickly collect dust if they’re neglected.

Or how incredibly easy it is to slip into a state of underachievement.

And yet all it takes to emerge from it is one simple action.

Fudge it. What have you got to lose?

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