In college I discovered that I wrote papers much more efficiently if I wore shoes -- even hard-soled slippers often did the trick as I wrote, re-wrote, researched, wished I hadn't procrastinated, called my friend across town at 0300 to discuss our brilliance, made plans to meet him at the local breakfast place for re-writes and edits at 0500, made bad coffee in my room, and somehow managed to crank out a paper (or two).
I would have adopted a similar writing "strategy" in high school, if not for my mother and her penchant for bedtimes. I still wait until the last minute, though sleep has become more precious as the years have gone along, and the friends I can call in the middle of the night has dropped significantly.
This morning I'm paying bills, and soon will be filing them -- getting ready for tax time, though April has lost much of its focus since we pay things quarterly. Instead, there are four dates that I dread. However, I find myself walking about the house this morning -- slippered feet wearing a path about, and my jeans presenting a more put-together and washed presence than the rest of me. I'm paying these bills and being productive, but the methods remain, smooth like grooves.