Ontological Friday.

I'm going to tell a story about why timesheets are stupid.

Yesterday afternoon, I got called in on what we in advertising call a "crisis." If we were on a German sub in the North Atlantic, the klaxon would be sounding and the Kapitan would be yelling Dive! Dive! over the loud-speaker.

In an ad agency, we're not running from lethal depth charges.

No. We have an ad that has to plate Tuesday. Wednesday latest.

I got the brief around five and rolled it around in my head for the rest of the night. I wasn't chained to a desk and handcuffed to a yellow pad or a MacBook Pro. I wasn't even coming up with lines. I was just rolling things around in my head--most of those things were dumb.

Around 11, as I was packing myself off to bed, I had a thought I liked. A thought I could sleep on. I didn't write it down. I wanted to keep it ephemeral, if you will. Not etched. So I left it in a coat check room off to the left of my amygdala.

This morning I got in the office at 8.

Quiet time.

I got the brief off of my pile of papers on my table.

I wrote and read and read an wrote.

I had things pretty much done, I think by the time I started writing this post: 8:24.

I'll check in on it through the day. Talk to my partner when she gets in. Re-write a bit, I'm sure.

But that's how I usually work when I have something to stew on.

Actual desk time was 25 minutes.

How do I fill out a timesheet?