This began on a morning when the management was replacing the hot and cold water risers in my coop building, when my daughter had a team practice at 7:00 am, and when I had an appointment for a seminar of graduate students in my office at the School of Architecture, ninety minutes drive from home.
It was a condition of the renovations that the plumbers would shut down service at 9:00 am. It was also a condition of the contract between my daughter and I – until she earned her license and her mother bought her a car of her own – that, whatever else, we would take a few minutes together every morning on the drive to school. And it is a condition of my contract with myself, that I arrive in my office prepared for the day, no matter how shiftless I feel.
So the currency in all this transaction is sleep. I pay for my responsibilities by stealing from sleep, as if it is a credit account I can pay back into, in time. We speak of sleep deficit when what we mean is too tired.
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