Monday

June 12, 2000

"The only thing that consoles man for the stupid things he does is the praise he always gives himself for doing them."

Oscar Wilde

art car

five to nine

The alarm clock sets up a ruckus at 4AM. I usually don't use one. Getting up at 4AM is a good reason to do it.

FFP is so sweet. He makes me a cup of coffee. They he crawls back in the bed and hugs the dog.

I shower, dress, pack up my laptop, make two more coffees for my commuter cup and wait a minute for my work buddy to arrive. Off we go at 5AM.

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With a brief stop in La Grange (jalapeno cheese sausage roll and more coffee), we make the trip in good time in spite of the slow and go dragging into Houston.

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We meet. We lunch. We meet some more.

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My buddy and I reverse the trip. The setting instead of the rising sun in our eyes. We stop at La Grange. Get a bottle of water. Discuss and solve the world's problems to stay awake.

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Home at almost nine. Salad for dinner. I work the New York Times crossword. I can't figure out why the center of the puzzle has, well, an upheaval. It's too neat to be a printing error. Then I get these clues: earthquake, San Andreas Fault, aftershock. I find this inordinately amusing.

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The problem with the five to nine day and the three hour commute (each way) is that the driving feels like an accomplishment. What was the productive work I was doing?

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