Doldrums

I looked up the word doldrums and Wikipedia presented lines from the poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner:

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

I really understand this now, living in a sub-tropical climate.  Nine months of the year, the weather is glorious with bright blue skies and perfect temperatures.  But, after Memorial Day, we receive our version of my old Cleveland winter where being outside is less pleasant than inside.  Only difference; you don't get depressed!  But, it is hot, and humid, and something happens to your motivation.  You move slower.  It is hard to get into a project.  You want to nap in the afternoon.  I totally understand the concept of siesta.  And why people call it "Island Time."  As usual, there are reasons behind the stereotypes.

Driving to work yesterday, I was enthralled with the flat calm waters of the windless day that met the sky in a seamless blend with no beginning or end to the horizon.  The clear waters of many shades of blue and green change daily and never cease to amaze us.  And, by the end of the day on the drive back home, the large cumulus clouds had built, promising either a tropical shower or a glorious sunset. 

Doldrums are hard for me.  I feel guilt over any lethargy.  I have to force myself into the luxury of plopping down in a chair on the porch overlooking the canal with a book.  And, two books in one week later, I managed to begin the decline into laziness.  I believe I will now go wallow in slothfulness and watch a TV taped Mad Men show in the late afternoon while the chainsaws drone on and on outside as our coconut palms are stripped of there fruit in preparation of hurricane season.

Have I gone mad turning the TV on in daylight?