Quarantine Logarithms: My Diary as a Professional Loafer

Quarantine Logarithms: My Diary as a Professional Loafer

By F. L. A. Tar

You might think a professional loafer is a cheeky paradox – a person who offers a service to the world by doing absolutely nothing. I’ve taken this under the microscope (or, more precisely, the mattress). The result? A diary so precise that even my cat, Sir Whispers, takes notes.

1. The Motivation

It all began on a drizzly Tuesday in March, when the virus decided the world called for a quarantine and my work‑from‑home email quivered for the first time. “You’ve got skills, you stay home, you’re useful,” the IT manager said, while I half‑expected the message to turn my sofa into a missile launcher. I was, I realised, technically eligible for a salary without a relocation fee, and that is exactly why I want to record every minute of my idle brilliance.

2. Logging the Unlogged

I set out to create a logarithmic diary: the idea that the harder I am to get moving, the faster my time “exponentially” grows. Take, for instance, the log base 2 strategy. For every hour I lay at the foot of the sofa, I double the perceived downtime. In practice, that means:

A tidy way to turn a two‑hour Netflix binge into a fortnight’s worth of “productive” time for the intern’s résumé.

3. The 'Bat‑Hammock Breaks'

I have phasing out “cycling in place” as my main cardio and replaced it with a loaf‑smashing strategy. My diary logs every "Loaf Smash" with impeccable detail:

• 08:00‑10:00: Loaf Smash on the sofa, 40% in repose, 60% in fluent thought about the last Commonwealth Games.
• 10:15: Loaf Smash on the bed, kale‑smoothie contemplation.
• 12:00: Loaf Smash on the chair, coffee per Serv/Toast.
• 14:30: Loaf Smash on the commuting sofa, discussing the weather with the broom.

Since this method, my coffee consumption has doubled, but my footwork has stayed singularly stagnant.

4. Self‑Discipline on a Log Scale

I coin the term “Loaf‑discipline” to describe the effort required to keep my logarithm from inflating faster than the price of kale during a Brexit. The key is procrastinatory precision – precisely one minute of delay before next action. It sounds simple, but I’ve discovered my favourite kettle is reliably higher than my motivation.

5. The 'Quarantine–Quaderno'

The diary is a quaderno (a coloured notebook, only in Italy but I’ve adopted the term, which feels rather professional). I have a dedicated page for each "log entry". On the first page I write:

“All A Bam! It’s been 3 hours 12 minutes since I finished attempting to bake a perfect scone.”

The bottom line is that this is not an ordinary diary. It’s a reminder that even in lockdown, you can stay afloat on a bed of procrastination.

6. When the Days Begin to Merge

By now, the list of loaf logs is as long as the battery life of mine. I’ve begun calling the weekends “grey‑comedy.” Perhaps the proper term is Continuous Soothe‑Loop – a loop that never ends because of the infinite limit of my bed‑surfing potential.

7. Conclusion – The Final Log

The final entry reads, “24 hours later, I discovered a hidden drawer under the sofa containing a secret stack of Post‑its. I’ve made seven decisions to stay home. I’ve remained undeterred. I have led a brave insolent lifestyle in which staying away from ambition is finishing my inevitable job.”

And so ends the poetic log of a professional loafer who, despite the pandemic, remains fully present in his own disturbed, calm, and, dare I say, exceptional place.

Cheers, F. L. A. Tar*

If you’re reading this, get a sofa, set up a logbook, and remember – the best way to stay away from work is to do nothing that could be called work. Onwards, brave lariers!