24

Scot Colford

I can’t make anything worthwhile in 24 hours. 24 is not a large number when you think about it.

Like, what can you do with a couple dozen eggs? I guess you could make a few souffles. Four or six or something like that. But eggs aren’t hours and I’m a slow cook anyway. At least when you bake, you bake alone.

Let’s break it down.

I’m going to need at least seven hours sleep to begin with or I’ll be of no use to anyone. Another hour of hygiene and grooming, plus an hour on the train. Two, with the way it’s been running lately.

Introductions, instructions, and (who knows?) incantations will kill another. Then we’ll review and rework and rehash and rewrite -- you can easily kill four hours of morning that way.

Then it’s lunchtime, so train home, eat, and change clothes. Two hours easy. (Wait, did I skip breakfast?) Feed the cat, take a crap, grab my hat, but we should be back on track before another hour slips away.

If we’re lucky, something might come in the next two hours of work. But inspiration’s fickle. Let’s budget four.

Two hours remain, but I can fill that handily with the performance preparation technique I call “nerves.” After that it’s over and I won’t have to think about it again.

Oh, god. I forgot to schedule time to think.

Scot Colford is an actor and occasional reluctant writer living in Boston. https://scotcolford.com