Resting on my laurels, it’s been so insidious that I’ve barely noticed it happening, because it’s so lovely to be comfortable. After so long of not feeling comfortable, in my work, in my thought processes, I have indulged in the brilliance of laziness. I don’t mean physical laziness, in fact coincidentally I’ve been doing more exercise than usual recently, I mean metal laziness. It’s not that my new job is mindless, far from it, it’s quite cerebral at points, all logical thinking and problem solving. But I’m not being pushed to my limits anymore, the limits of my patience, limits of my temper, limits of my tiredness. The pressure is off. The pressure is finally off. I’m getting more sleep, more money, and whilst I wouldn’t change it for the world because the benefits of this change far outweigh the losses, I didn’t realise how much I was able to let those experiences fuel me, challenge me, make me think and re-appropriate. If this was reconciled by a challenging and interesting mental life outside of work then it would be balanced out, I would be being challenged and influenced in different and considerably less ulcer causing ways. But I’ve drawn myself into a trap. Because I can sleep more, I am sleeping more. Because I’m no longer faced with the boredom of commuting anymore, I’m not reading like I used to (despite a groaning pile of books waiting to be read next to my bedside.) I’m curling up in the evenings and watching programs that are comfortable and familiar (despite being awesome) and reality TV that does nothing to improve me and only makes me feel weirdly superior about my own life and choices (considerably less awesome viewing notably.) In short, in a mere six months, I’ve gone a bit soft. I’ve lost my edge.