Another Day in Marfa

After four months in my new home I am beginning to find my rhythm. There are the months after a move of finding where all your belongings fall into place, a little like water finding its own level. And if this seems like a long time to adjust, I add there are extenuating circumstances: my natural ability to putz. There’s nothing I like more. I don’t pay any attention to it usually, but a recent visit from a friend brought my talents for ‘getting a late start’ into sharp focus. I can find any number of things to do before I get down to work or before I can leave the house: checking my email one last time, finishing up a game of solitaire, putting a pillow straight, having one last cup of coffee before the day begins. I discovered this demands a great deal of patience on the part of those who wake early and are immediately ready for the day’s projects, like my houseguest.

Thank god I don’t work in an office anymore. The one constant complaint from each and every one of my employers was my showing up late, as if there were something inherently valuable in being at a particular place at an arbitrary time, a failure on my part to understand the difference between 9 and 9:20 telescoped into a staff morale issue.
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