I loaf and invite my soul – but only if the article that caught my eye is prefaced with a probable time commitment that fits into my tightly-scheduled day.
Estimated Reading Time: 4 min
I check my color-blocked dual-indexed triple-prioritized daybook. I might be able to read the piece at 8:50 AM, if I don’t have to pee then as planned. Better yet, I can take it into the bathroom with me and multi-task.
Somehow, I don’t believe that’s what Whitman had in mind.
Granted, the article in question is written by an efficiency/productivity expert. My first mistake is in following him (where there is life, there is hope). At the top of everything he publishes, he states how long it will take you to read it.
What this tells me is that his content is less important than the clock.
Why, then, should I bother with it? Is he worth four minutes of my fleeting and doomed existence? No. Might he have claimed that much and more, had he seduced me properly? Most probably.
What if I want to savor his approach or languidly flirt with his ideas?
Sorry! You fail if you don’t finish in four.
Husband came out of the restaurant restroom last night shaking his head. He’d been standing at the urinal beside a man who was peeing on the phone.
Work with me, here. You know what I mean.
It was apparently a loud animated discussion that involved aggressive gesturing — with both hands. Husband had to step away.
Here’s the thing:
Cell phones and calendars won’t save you in the end. You’re not in control, despite your best efforts. Existential terror has to be gulped, not measured out in teaspoons.
And now I’m late. Damn! I can’t catch up! My schedule is ruined! The whole day is shot!