Yeah, that was productive . . .

What does it mean to make good use of your time?

I pondered this briefly today at the gym. This morning I spent three-and-a-half hours in a medical clinic, saw a doctor for maybe ten minutes of that time, and walked away with no x-rays, no real action plan, not even a tentative diagnosis. They simply informed me that I would get a phone call, after a few days, from someone about seeing some radiology lab somewhere that could do something for me at some future date if I paid them some uncertain amount of money. Fortunately (providentially?), during the hundred and fifty minutes that I spent in the waiting room, I discovered a copy of Richard J. Foster's Prayer and was able to mow through a few chapters. It was a good morning, I think.

At the gym, I at least "did something" (on a Precor EFX 576i, to be exact), and it was a decent workout, notwithstanding the time I irrevocably devoted to watching "Commando," a Schwarzenegger film where the hero throws around heavy objects and scowls a lot. In my partial defense, I had been watching the Miami (OH) RedHawks take out Bemidji in the NCAA "Frozen Four" semis, but it wasn't close in the third period, and there's a strange magnetism about indestructable people that drew my eyes to the silent film on the big screen. Anyway, despite the impressive feat that suplexing an occupied phone booth is, I felt palpably less intelligent even after viewing probably less than half of the movie.

Then I went over to the weights area to sculpt my guns.

Just kidding. Seriously, though, I like to get things done, and today was a good reminder that productivity isn't always what it seems.