Carrying over from yesterday’s post, here’s another thing that makes me happy:

I typically don’t check my inbox before 1pm. Yes, practicing self-care first thing and making time for what’s important and all that, but really it’s a decision based entirely around food.

At 1pm Music City time, it’s 11am Botox Standard Time. The trend right now amongst the hyper go getter types is skipping breakfast, but whatever abomination passes as coffee’s been guzzled, and whatever soul destroying traffic they were stuck in while listening to a self-help podcast at double speed’s subsided. They’re now in their office, caffeinated and comfortably at 68 degrees, having already forgotten the all-caps subject line email they sent demanding my IMMEDIATE ATTENTION in favor of fantasizing about lunch. And as we all know, fantasizing about lunch is better than sex. Perfect timing for their inbox to go “ding.”

At 1pm Music City time, in Music City, people are just getting back from lunch, or about to head out to lunch, or indeed have been out to lunch their entire lives. Either way, they’ve justified the brownie, surreptitiously scarfed while in line at the Turnip Trunk, on account of their choosing a beet salad with some fashionable animal’s cheese crumbled on top. They’re zipping back to their office on a Lime scooter, emboldened by and giddy with denial. Again, perfect timing for a “ding” from their favorite “who’s that again?” client.

At 1pm Music City time, it’s 2pm in the Big Apple, which means all the Music City stuff’s happened and they’ve moved on to fantasizing about eating tiny food at a happy hour. It’s also an hour closer to the show they’ve been comped at, where they’ll drink all the band’s booze and take up the entire dressing room, thwarting the drummer’s attempt to shower (hypothetically, of course). Anyway, your friend Trevor’s infinitely fascinating email hits them during peak daydream, and their laugher echos down the hallway of the shared work space.