Sloth.

On a Discovery Channel special about these creatures, Ralph Fiennes memorably and beautifully pronounced the word "sloth" with a long o, rhyming with "both", rather than the nasal American pronounication of "sloth". When I am in the midst of bout of sloth, it should be pronounced the American way; ugly and short: "slaaaaaaaahth".

Sloth is a sin of omission, rather than a sin committed in action (see keying of mailbox below in Wrath). It's a state of being in which one is careless and lazy. The modern definition of sloth includes the possession of talent in any form and leaving that gift untapped and unused.

Sloth is a byproduct of melancholy and depression. Walk into a slothful person's living space (like The Hovel) and you'll see dirty dishes in the sink, overflowing trashcans, sticky floors, dirty laundry, dusty furniture and general disorder.

Day-to day duties are neglected. A slothful state creates piles of paper, like unanswered letters and unpaid bills. Phone calls aren't returned. Science projects flourish in the fridge.

Forget about completing an ambitious project, like filing a month's paperwork into personal files, balancing a checkbook or refinishing a cabinet. As long as one is slothful, these projects will never be completed. If they are, it's with sheer willpower.

I've a few talents-- singing, drawing, painting, and am an engaging conversationalist. Do I use these talents? No. I feel much worse about this aspect of sloth than any other.

Can you tell I'm well-acquainted with this deadly sin? I'm usually in sloth mode rather than out of it.

I am fully aware this is a result of clinical depression, and trust me, I fight it. I hate living in a dirty house. Usually I'll wait until it gets so bad that I cannot stand my surroundings any more, then I take a deep breath and dive in to complete whatever it is that needs to get done. Sometimes I'll experience a burst of inspiration and indulge myself with a creative pursuit, such as sketching an amateurish still-life or an even worse, a watercolor or pastel picture. Afterward, I look at the thing I've created and tell myself, "Well! You're not that talented after all!", then slide backward into creeping slothfulness.