There’s an animal called sloth. He lives in the jungle and doesn’t do anything except for hugging a tree branch and chewing leaves when he’s not too lazy to reach for them. If you can imagine this picture consider you met me personally. I’m a sloth, a cute and smiley idler.
The irony of being a sloth, the real one, from the tree, is that to digest the leaves shoveled in this creature needs sunlight that produces ferments necessary to transform food into energy. And if it happens to be a rainy season and the sky is covered with crying clouds the sloth can die of hunger even when his stomach is full of eaten leaves.
Not being literally a sloth, I still can die, of boredom, if I let my lazybones nature and lack of activity to win over. So, to stay alive, instead of waiting for help of fickle skies, I need to kick my own ass to do something, to keep my mind, and even body sometimes, working. If you can imagine the sloth serenely hugging the tree and struggling with himself simultaneously consider you met me personally.