Busyness, my BlackBerry, the feeling of never being caught up, the fantasies about myself that the busyness fosters—this busyness is just as disorienting, just as deadly as the traditional seven. I am deeply slothful, undisciplined and always staring off into space or slinking away with a novel. And yet, busyness as often as laziness supplies my excuse: I am too busy to go to church, too busy to pray; there’s not enough time to pray, not enough time to hold body together, let alone soul. I am too lazy to do what’s important, or hard, so I stay busy with everything else.
