Irony of lazy laziness

Hello dear ones!

I am never sure who is following, but it is always good to dream that perhaps behind the screen may lie some interested eyes that savour these tales of the living.
My lack of time to write can only be described as an excuse for my own lazyness
While I write these words now, all the signs in my body tell me to stop.

This is the irony of being lazy. I am too lazy to write about it.
Its boring stuff. I know
All my past few weeks have been like that, an excuse after an other, to keep on living.
I am on automatic.
I do what I am told, what they ask me.
They tell me I am great.
But I press random switches, and they always come in the combination they expect.
I use the same solutions over and over, but they do not tire of the cliche
But I am the big cliche

Friends and love ones tell me not too worry about these things.
I should do the retreat.
My shrink has very little to say
My friends have nothing more to add
My life as it is, as the promise of some many other things.
I need that the good spirit takes over from now on.
The bad ghost has been lingering far too long.
Peter Fallon, please go.
Let the nice Peter Fallon in.

So, the dilemma now, is how to deal with my own self pitty :P
Disgusting