...Putting Your Cart Before Your Horse
Posted by Steven Wingate at 4/9/2008 9:02 AM and is filed under efficiency,Bad Moods,Prioritization,Busy Work,Exercise 
This will be a quick one, almost epigrammatic in its efficiency, because I’m tired and grouchy and grading too much and miserable about it.
I was heading for my place of employment the other day and thought to myself I need to get all my stupid busy-work done so I can do some exercise and get my flabby carcass back into shape.
Then I thought to myself No, you idiot. You need to do some exercise and get your flabby carcass back into shape so you can get your stupid busy-work done without feeling so grouchy about it.
And that’s when I learned the meaning of the phrase “putting your cart before your horse.”
Perhaps I have learned this meaning before, and will learn it again. It seems to be my way lately. I require several iterations, like Pavlov's dog or a lab rat. And even then it's uncertain whether the message will stick.
Were I a more efficient writer—a poet instead of a logorrheic scribbler of self-entwining, self-defeating sentences—I would be able to express this sentiment in a single sentence. Maybe even in a single phrase.
O Muse! Will you leave me to my own devices on this one, or will you inspire me with the nine words required—or the seven, or the twelve—so I can compact this lesson and write it on the inside of my skin, where it will never be forgotten?
O Reader! Will you, too, leave me in the lurch? Or will you give me these words I seek?
I was heading for my place of employment the other day and thought to myself I need to get all my stupid busy-work done so I can do some exercise and get my flabby carcass back into shape.
Then I thought to myself No, you idiot. You need to do some exercise and get your flabby carcass back into shape so you can get your stupid busy-work done without feeling so grouchy about it.
And that’s when I learned the meaning of the phrase “putting your cart before your horse.”
Perhaps I have learned this meaning before, and will learn it again. It seems to be my way lately. I require several iterations, like Pavlov's dog or a lab rat. And even then it's uncertain whether the message will stick.
Were I a more efficient writer—a poet instead of a logorrheic scribbler of self-entwining, self-defeating sentences—I would be able to express this sentiment in a single sentence. Maybe even in a single phrase.
O Muse! Will you leave me to my own devices on this one, or will you inspire me with the nine words required—or the seven, or the twelve—so I can compact this lesson and write it on the inside of my skin, where it will never be forgotten?
O Reader! Will you, too, leave me in the lurch? Or will you give me these words I seek?
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