When I was a kid, in the formative years (14 years old) of my carer as a lazy teenager (it’s a dead end career path with few perks but seemingly infinite bliss) the ideal version of adulthood that I conjured up involved working a little bit and then BBQing chicken, eating potato salad and watching baseball all weekend. My motivation for this was mom and dad always working on their weekends on their rental houses and whatever other side hustle they were currently grinding on. Shortly into my career as a slightly less lazy, employed young adult, I met this dude at work named Henry who sat in an adjacent cube, pushed paper and pencil, and ate lunch everyday at 7-11 (hot dogs, Big Gulp, nachos, and “lots of ketchup on everything” Henry said, because his mom and dad always cut off his ketchup consumption). He was this scraggly beard wearin’ guy who ran a ton and, on the weekends, according to Henry, he would sit around in his underwear and watch baseball.

It’s not like I’ve never sat around in my underwear and ate nachos and watched baseball on a weekend but I feel very deprived these days. I wish I had more time and less to think about so that I could contemplate this vision of enjoying one of my favorite past times. I learned a long time that there is a middle way between shiftless me trying to dodge chores and live to work mom and dad. I’ve carved that middle path a lot over the years but I need to get back there and make it the norm, soon.