It’s the end of July and–right on schedule–I have hit Sloth Week.

Sloth Week is when I do absolutely nothing but lie around and read books. It usually coincides with hot, humid weather that, all by itself, induces lethargy. I believe it is part of my circadian rhythm. Brood X cicadas emerge every seventeen years, and I have a sloth week every July.

Sloth Week is not the same as “Crash From the End of School Year” Week. That is a finish line collapse which often manifests as a manic launch into summer projects in an attempt to burn off excess adrenaline.

Sloth Week is also not the same as Beach Week, when I basically do the same thing as Sloth Week but on the beach. Beach Week is a smidge more productive. There are walks on the sand, dips in the ocean, long chats with family, intense people watching, excessive drinking.

Beach Week is an excellent primer for Sloth Week. With no deadlines, no expectations, no chores, I can just BE. But all that sunshine, fresh sea air, chit-chat and drinking can be pretty exhausting.

Sloth Week is when everything comes to a halt.

Sloth Week is when I sleep late in the morning after staying up late binge-watching episodes on Netflix. I sip coffee on the porch all morning and then rest with a book all afternoon. And I feel no guilt.

It is a pause between my end of school year summer projects and my back to school summer projects. I have set aside To-Do lists. There is nothing that I have to do right this minute. Sloth Week indicates that I have reached total relaxation. My internal battery reaches a full charge and the light is blinking green for “go.”

Next week, the To-Do lists will resume.

Next week, I will tackle the weeds and the spider webs.

Next week, I will resume a semblance of discipline.

But today? Whatever happens happens. It’s Sloth Week. Right on schedule.