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Fear of the Unfruitful Day

Back in the Bad Old Days when I worked as a paralegal in a window-less office in a large Southern Califonia Law Firm's darkly a/c'd building I used to have to keep track of my time carefully and on paper. I mean really keep track. We were supposed to account for every minute of work everyday - in 6 minute increments. Right away you see the problem. No one can be productive all day long - but it did work as the stick that made you try since it was tied to the carrot - a bonus.

Those days are long-gone but there's a residual stain on my soul - the "what did I get done today?" query that often accounts - in my case at least - for a sense of dissatisfaction with the self. Why don't I do more? And that question is tied closely with why am I not a better person? No, you say. It doesn't work that way for you? Well, I'm glad, but for lots of us countable accomplishments have a lot, too much I would argue, with our evaluation of whether any one day was well-spent.

For a writer, for any artist, this can be especially bothersome since you often get the good stuff when you least expect it - and certainly not when you are counting your productivity in discrete units. It's tricky - yes? You can't always will the thing to happen, but neither can you wait for the book to write itself. It's like balancing on a bongo board (you can google that) - you have to keep your knees bent, your center of gravity low and if you're smart, you stay relaxed and awake. Here's to a day like that - let's wish each other luck.
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