IT TAKES me two hours to get from bed to desk and to do even that well I must eat breakfast like a St. Bernard. Most of my co-workers sleep later than I do and many reach the office earlier. They wonder what I do with my time.
I used to wonder, too, but wonder no longer. Dalliance comes as naturally as breathing. I enjoy it and know that at this late date any attempt at self-improvement would be futile. Whenever I sleep half an hour longer than usual and determine to speed up my schedule to compensate for the luxury, I get to work 30 minutes late.
I used to wonder, too, but wonder no longer. Dalliance comes as naturally as breathing. I enjoy it and know that at this late date any attempt at self-improvement would be futile. Whenever I sleep half an hour longer than usual and determine to speed up my schedule to compensate for the luxury, I get to work 30 minutes late.
HASTE DOES too much violence to natural inclination and forces one to keep his mind on what he's doing. Also, one must set the stage the night before. He must decide what shirt and necktie he'll wear and reach decisions about the pants, jacket and socks. This eliminates rooting around in the closet and pawing through dresser drawers.
I read some silly business about this time-saving dodge once and determined to try it, even going so far as to strop my razor before going to bed and fixing firmly in mind the location of the shaving brush. But the game isn't worth the candle. It introduced too much stark realism and efficiency into getting dressed. To me the infant moments of the day are moments to cherish, moments for dreams, for coming alive gradually and decently.
THE FELLOW who whips out of bed like a fireman, whisks off his whiskers and gets down to breakfast in 15 minutes is a time-saver, I grant, but the world is too much with him. He is a purposeful and unimaginative live wire who is going places-- and has ulcers to prove it. The joys of wandering the fields of fancy are denied him. He is missing much.
It takes me 15 minutes just to get on my socks and shoes. While doing so my ear is cocked to the plaudits of the literati. I have just written a best seller and the rave reviews are a rhapsody. Or I'm running for a touchdown after leaping high to catch a pass. The crowd, naturally, is wild.
Even brushing the teeth is endurable if you get your mind off your cavities and boom down a ski slope, circle the bases after hitting a home run, or shoot it out with the Clanton gang at Tombstone.
Even brushing the teeth is endurable if you get your mind off your cavities and boom down a ski slope, circle the bases after hitting a home run, or shoot it out with the Clanton gang at Tombstone.
ANOTHER thing that burns up some morning time but is worth it is the horseplay my son and I enjoy. We always go a couple of rounds after I rout him out of bed and afterward he frequently seeks my counsel on problems in math or social studies.
This bow to paternal erudition tickles my vanity but I'm not, I confess, at my best so early in the day. The principal products of Madagascar and the latitude of Peoria come rather haltingly off the tongue at that hour. Answers cannot be given in seconds.
BUT TO SUM UP, it takes me an hour to get ready for breakfast, half an hour to eat--if it hasn't taken more than an hour to get to breakfast--and half an hour to drive to the office. The stretch between bed and breakfast is the one the efficiency expert would spot as the bottleneck.However, he can go take a jump. I have a book of quotations which credits Anatole France with this gem: "Existence would be intolerable if we were never to dream." Efficiency experts might not agree, but I do.
Copyright 2013 StarTribune. Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune. No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.
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