Works. There is nothing, nothing, nothing to do but stare at the page. Looking left and right offers empty carrels, and to get to a book I’d have to go through Latino studies, magazines, the magazine tombs, biographies, and two flights of stairs. Carrels, I am sad to report, are better for me to work in than coffee shops; less to do, less to toy with, less to look at.
Coffee shops are still useful, mind you. But a bare cell seems best for me and my undisciplined ways.
The past two days I’ve driven into downtown to hit the carrels, have about 15 minutes less time, and have been more productive than drinking coffee at the diner across the street. And spend less money, so it’s all good.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry