A few minutes ago Mike warned me that there appeared to be a problem with the op-ed page (which is, until we print it out as a negative and a plate is made
from it, just a big QuarkXPress file) — one of the ads hasn’t shown up. This could mean I’ll have to finish it later in the evening because Mike has to leave soon.
I told him not to worry: It’s 10 til 8.
Earlier, as Warren and I were talking about the need to rewrite his column for tomorrow in light of new developments, and he had just told me we were expecting a fourth candidate today on top of the three I had noticed on my calendar, and Cindi started telling me we were facing a "train wreck" on our schedule if we didn’t start endorsing some candidates this week, I said don’t worry; it’s just 10 til 8. Plenty of time.
Some would say the clock in our hallway is broken. Others would say it needs a new battery. I say it’s just perfect the way it is. As I go into meetings with my colleagues and candidates, full of worry about how we’ll get it all done today, I see that clock, and am deeply reassured: It’s just 10 ’til 8.
Ten minutes before 8 is just a perfect time of day, no matter whether it means a.m. or p.m. It means that I’m either about to have my first cup of coffee of the day, or pop open a beer. It doesn’t get better, or more soothing or relaxing, than that. Oh, look: It’s 10 ’til 8. Ahhhhhh.
Some would say it’s right twice a day, and call themselves optimists. But the way I think about it is much more positive: I choose to believe that it’s always right.
I need to go now and see about these pages for tomorrow. But fortunately, I see by the ol’ clock on the wall that there’s no hurry, no hurry at all…
Related Posts
This explains a lot. Over in my world, we’re stuck at 9 ’til 6 for want of a battery the last two weeks in the snack bar.
You’re almost two hours late.
.
Brad: As cheapo as the bean counters at The State have become, I’m surprised they haven’t tried to sell your clock at a yard sale. But I digress. You and I have talked plenty of times after 8 pm when you still were in your office. You say 10 til 8 pm is the time you pop the top on a beer can. May it be reasonably deduced that you’re popping the top on company time, and could that account for some of your odd editorial positions?
Here’s hoping they pawn the clock and force Mr. Warthen to buy a watch.