Naturally, my pre-work routine the next morning was...abbreviated.
I snoozed it in nine-minute intervals from 6:30 to 7:27, when I finally decided to let the alarm win. I had three minutes to leave the house.
It was a flip-flop day.
The dress code at work is extremely relaxed, so any time I give myself no time to wake up in the morning, on go the flip-flops and I'm out the door before I really have time to think about what's going on. Most of the time I still remember pants.
As I was slapping my left flop against my heel with my toes waiting for lunch/death yesterday, I thought about the psychological shift that goes along with the flip-flop. It makes it seem like the day doesn't really count, because you decided from moment one there would be no extra effort wasted on anything. "Well, I'm not even wearing real shoes today. There's no way I'm shaving."
And it snowballs. Breakfast goes out the window. Teeth go unbrushed. You plod through the day as a half-zombie, pretending not to notice people as they walk by, and hoping they don't notice you either. "Hey, don't talk to me! Don't you know today is a mulligan? I'm wearing flip-flops!"
To quote Radiohead, I'm not here. This isn't happening. All because I didn't put on socks.
Normally I'd try and wrap this all up, but it follows that if I'm not putting effort into anything else, I'm not going to put it in a blog either. Hell, I may just stop writing right in the midd
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