I woke up with ambition today. Expectations were for the afternoon, morning is mine and I have deadlines. I vaulted out of bed, ran the shower as I shaved my head, and made quick work of the time in the bathroom.
Moving to the kitchen, I made breakfast for the two of us who eat it, set my fantasy baseball lineups from my phone, and got the 8th grader to school in plenty of time for his big field trip.
As I pulled into the parking lot of the Starbucks by my house, my anticipated sense of accomplishment started to fade. Inside, my usual table was taken, and because of the law of distance based on occupants, I was forced to use a big table that is one of the two accessible tables, which made me nervous. It’s like using the accessible stall in the bathroom — someone could need it. Is it likely? Nope. But they could.
I wrote a quick email that didn’t get written yesterday because I had to pick up the junior from school who wasn’t feeling well, which was then followed by several other emails, a text, a call from Rose, which I always take pacing by the door so as not to disturb all of the others who use the coffee shop as a coworking space, so when I finally sat down, I realize I have about twenty minutes before my next appointment.
Where’d the time go? Who even knows. When you open your email, time gets spindled and folded into a paper airplane that you may as well wind up and let it fly. Or else you are treating it like the illusionary version of junk mail that you find in your mailbox and you walk straight inside and to the shredder. Time, man. It just goes.
I wasted time around lunch, which isn’t like me, but I couldn’t get productive, because, and this is the thing about time — an hour here and there isn’t enough to get into a zone. You may as well indulge your worst impulses and drag people on Facebook for all the utility you will find in opening the document and actually reading what you’ve written and starting a fresh edit. Nah. Save that for when you’ve got time. Thirty minutes now? Plenty of time to watch food reaction videos.
At noon, there was still an hour before my office hours, which, to be honest, has no reason not to be early. I can do that work I thought I’d be doing this morning, perhaps? But I did have to vacuum the car, because I’ll be driving some people to Indianapolis for a meeting tonight, and this is really not going to work. Garbage in the back seat, leaves everywhere (how are there so many under the mats?), and some residual smell from the bags of mulch that I bought at Lowe’s over the weekend and brought home for our Mother’s Day garden party which wasn’t so much a party as it was helping Rose weed the beds. And as I pulled out of the lot at Lowe’s I could hear the distinct sound of trickling water, from behind me as a few of the bags, kept outside in the heat and causing condensation inside them, inviting a hospitable environment for mold to grow into a revolting fountain that would pool in the back of our hatchback. After carrying sixteen heavy bags from the car to the front, I found an old t-shirt I kept in the garage as a drying rag for the next car wash, and used it to sop up the foul stuff. Then left the trunk open for an hour to finish drying out. When I got in the next day, it reeked something awful. I used a spot cleaner on the fabric and let it air out some more. It helped. Still smelled the next day, though. Wednesday was way better. Today, I couldn’t smell anything, but I knew it was there. I moistened the fabric a little, wiped it thoroughly, used some fresh baking soda, let it sit for a couple of hours, and went up to the Crew car wash to vacuum the car and though I may as well wash it while I’m there.
Sitting down at Bear’s Coffee + Roasting Co. for office hours, ordering a Tri-State Latte (one of the monthly drinks — this month is Phineas and Ferb), I opened my laptop for the third time today and as I worked through my list, I realized how productive I had been and yet also not at all, not in the least bit.
Time and that sense of accomplishment, that virtuous and fleeting thing that belies such laborious words as passage and sequence and something far more scattered, like ricocheting stray bullets. I forced myself to read again through pieces I wanted to work on, bringing to the surface what will be the plan, the timing, laid out in the calendar in the coming weeks, scheduled like appointments, the work of writing and editing, reading and thinking, and I found a moment’s peace, that release of pressure that feels in the body, in the shoulders especially. Tomorrow is a new day with so much promise.
As I started on this missive, a strange bit of sharing with the world that is at once work and not work, like time’s paradoxical speed as always slow and fast, I spied a friend come in. He was here to meet someone, but he stopped by the table:
“You look like you’re working.”
And I resisted the Dad jokes and the bit of nervousness that comes from believing you should always respond honestly, so I picked one of my usuals:
“Trying to.”
He’s back from a trip to Europe and I’ll be going on one, so I ask about his advice for packing “find out if there’s laundry facilities” he offered, and I bemoan having to pack nice clothes and shoes and having to pack for more than a week, but it is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of trip.
His friend arrives and orders a Bear Bomb, their house energy drinks. This one is a kind of deep royal blue at the bottom and swirls at the top as it mixes with the sparkling water. It’s hot outside and they debated going on a hike. I expected them to stay, to talk here in the comfortable chairs, passing time together, but they’re going to spend it out there in the furnace of early summer during the Overshoot era.
“I’ll let you get back to your work.”
“Good luck,” I offered. And I meant it.
Be well,
Drew
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I wrote this week about the incomparable Frances Perkins for the anniversary of her death (and her feast day). For Sunday’s sermon, we dealt with identity.
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