Preparing to shoot a few segments of Big Jon in 5 for BEER2WHISKEY in our upstairs studio at Barley's Taproom in downtown Greenville. That's owner Josh Beebe preparing for his closeup.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Slacker's Mantra: Tomorrow Is Another Day

I'm not the kind of guy who sleeps the day away. Typically my feet hit the floor somewhere between 6:30 and 7:30 a.m. I only use an alarm clock when I have to catch a flight that, just as often as not, involves a two-and-a-half-hour slog to Atlanta.

Some mornings I wake before 6:30, and love getting that head start on the day. I'm what my hater friends refer to as a “morning person.” It's a term they usually spit out with the same disdain as “Nazi” or “hedge-fund manager.” Here's the deal, though, I'm at my best before noon. Once I've eaten lunch – no matter what it might be – I'm ready to coast to the finish line. Sure, I might drag myself to the gym or toil away for a couple of hours on some renovation project, but my enthusiasm for any post-lunch undertaking is utterly nil, as my inner slacker rears its ugly head.

I can't put into words just how rare it is for me to sleep beyond 7:30, regardless of what time I arrived in bed, or of what the previous evening consisted. If I go to bed at 10:30 or midnight, my eyes pop open between 6:30 and 7:30 (or earlier), just the same.

Imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes this morning to my digital clock announcing that it was 9:15! What! Yep, I merrily snoozed my way nearly two hours beyond 7:30, stranding me in uncharted waters. Even more amazing, my cat, that is usually meowing at my door by 7:30, demanding her breakfast, chose this morning to sleep in, as well.

A bit of wine and a 2 a.m. bedtime were the culprits in this tale of sloth. A buddy of mine invited me to dinner last night while his wife hosted a girls' night at home. He Ubered to the restaurant; so, I dropped him at his house on the way home. He invited me in for a nightcap. It would have been rude of me to decline, right? His wife was still entertaining one of her gal pals poolside. My one nightcap glass of wine turned into a three-hour gabfest. And the rest, as they say, is history.

What I've garnered from this experience is, dragging myself out of bed nearly two hours behind my typical schedule really shortens my day. I mean, significantly so. It's not so much the two hours of peak productivity lost, but the realization that I didn't have the time to accomplish much of anything before lunch that weighed on me like an anvil. Such a profound inertia overcame me that I can barely function.

Wallowing in my ignorance yesterday, I had made grandiose plans to work on my home's backdoor today. I haven't attempted to open it in two or three years. As the house continues to settle, it jammed shut. After forcing it open, I need to shave some of the wood from the door frame. I figured it would be a two- or three-hour job. It's just another task requiring my attention as I try to get this joint into some sort of shape to sell.

However, after addressing the usual load of overnight e-mails, I glanced at the clock only to discover that it was after 11 a.m. Realizing my day was already nearly half gone simply sucked all the initiative right out of me. By the time I finish this post, it will be time for lunch.

I am so crestfallen over the lost morning, I can't motivate myself to tackle a project of any sort. I have two Autotrader assignments that require cranking out over the next few days; as well as, my backdoor project and a couple of renovation projects around the house that are in need of completion. I won't address any of them today. I can't.

I have two episodes remaining of the most recent season of “Walking Dead” that I recorded in its entirety and have been binge watching this week. I think this is the ideal afternoon to get those behind me as I mentally repeat the slacker mantra: Tomorrow is another day.

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