Well, it's half past ten and I've come into the computer room in hope of escaping the silently disapproving stare of my as yet only partially packed luggage. I'm fully aware that it is marginally essential for me to get said packing done by eight a.m. tomorrow morning in order to catch a bus, I don't have anything else to do, and I'm not particularly tired, but I've reached that peculiar state where I really, to be perfectly frank, just cannot be bothered. So, given the highly dubious hypothesis that I am destined to be an author, I have decided to discuss this.
Why do human beings... or my friends and myself, which is not necessarily the same thing (well, if you include Next-door's-cat in my list of friends it certainly isn't the same thing, and he certainly suffers from it) suffer from this condition. What is the value in a character attribute which hinders the subject from performing often important tasks when there's no reason to be doing something of greater importance? It's fairly widespread amongst our moronic species, and thus presumably if not a prerequisite of survival either relatively advantageous or at the very least mildly beneficial. Therefore, given the theory of evolution, laziness is either the result of a large number of extremely unlikely genetic coincidences, or else has a purpose. Next question; what is that purpose?
Do you know, I really can't be bothered to discuss the matter...
Go back to my Oxford page or The Lair of the Valeyard, as you see fit.