efficient.Lets dance upon the stage, making the most of every movement, every leap in the air, every burst of energy to convey emotion. Good dancers use their energy and their bodies efficiently to become moving works of art.
Today he was more efficient than he ever was before. He finally spoke to the girl that he’d known since grade school. She was different, though. She had a confidence about her that lit up a room but still seemed so shy and timid. Was it him making her this way?
I am efficient when I want to be. But most of the time, efficiency comes naturally. It’s nice to be competent. It’s better to be efficient. Of course, once again, I must look up this word as soon as I’m done typing here. What does it mean to be efficient? It sounds so officious.
Being efficient implies productivity. Productivity implies working towards a goal. Working towards a goal implies an investment in life. An investment in life implies a need for happiness. A need for happiness shouldn’t imply anything other than a need to be happy.
The ambulance attendants were very efficient in tending to the woman as she collapsed to the ground unconscious. They strapped her in and ran to the ambulance taking the necessary time to stabilize the woman. The family, even though worried, were relieved that she would be in good hands away from home.
You caused the nights to become
less like loneliness
and more like efficient heartache
and the way we looked at
each other
in the moonlight
was like the fireworks on the
fourth of July
and there is absolutely nothing in the
world that I would rather do
than be with you by your
side again so you
would not be so lonely
you caused the nights to become
less like loneliness
and more like efficient heartache
and the way we spoke to each
other with snaked tongues
and heated nails
was like the aftermath of a mass
genocide and I swear
there is nothing in the world I would
rather do than hear you tell
me who you really are
and for me to tell you I’m
sorry for believing you
and being pulled into
you
you caused the nights to become
less like loneliness
and more like efficient heartache
but now
you cause my nights to be
less like happiness
and more like efficient suicides
and still I wake
in the morning
because I know you are real
in some way
shape
or form
(even if you’re lying about your
life.)
She’s efficient. She’s the god damn queen of efficiency.
She’s not a fighter, she’s a planner, and when her plans go wrong
she has a plan for that. Every second, every possible thing that
could go wrong, every thing that could put her crew in danger –
it’s her job to be two steps ahead. Sleepless nights, burning eyes,
gallons and gallons of coffee – and, of course, that nagging
reminder that her friends are fucked five ways to Sunday if she
doesn’t stay two steps ahead at all times. She’s
efficient.
Productive. The pinnacle of success in the world of manufacturing. A word that means to get things done, albeit at the cost of quality, so that the product is ready-for-use when the need calls. This word calls to mind the smell of oil and the sight of a smoking and monolithically tall chimney rising out of a steel mill set against a backdrop of a gray, cloudy sky.
He was, in fact, a very efficient worker. Sure, nothing
could escape his view when hunting or when writing, but the one
thing above all else Dean Winchester could accomplish was his work.
His line of work included hunting down the nastiest things in
existence and showing them to their grave. A shitty job, one might
think, covered in blood and the screams of innocents lost in the
fray, but who was Dean to care? He was good at his job, and his job
was all he knew. Sam might have another say in the matter entirely,
might tell you that Dean was far better at things that didn’t
include the hunt – But for Dean, it’s all there was. Work never
stopped for him, and boy did he love his job.
Telling every asshole you meet that they are an asshole is
not efficient, you should get a T-shirt made. One that says
“ASSHOLE” in big red letters. And wear it every day.
He grabbed the jug of coffee, the tin of sweetner, and the creamer in one hand, and managed to pull out an empty mug from the dishwasher. Juggling the items he held, he deftly poured the coffee into the mug, added sweetener and creamer, and produced a teaspoon from somewhere and stirred. “There you go,” he said, placing the finished and ready to be drunk mug in front of the stunned girl. “…Wow, you really are efficient,” she said.
“All in a day’s work,” he said, smiling at her. “Besides, I’ve been practicing that thing for years. I *should* be pretty fast by now, right?”
The girl took a sip of coffee. “Mmm, this is good.”
“Of course it is, *I* made it.”
zip zip
“Thank you guys. You’ve been very sufficient.”
“Don’t you mean efficient?”
“Yeah; sufficient means acceptable. ‘We’ve been very acceptable’? Pssh. We rock this. We’re efficient.”
There wasn’t any time to be careful.
She looked over the edge of the boat and saw the huge shark that was circling. If she squinted, she could see more in the dark, murky water of the Atlantic ocean. Though it pained her to turn the motor on, fearing it would hurt one of the sharks, she knew she had to. There was a storm coming. It was audible, and she could feel the crackle of electricity in the air. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to coming to a real conclusion in her research, and of course a storm had to come along and ruin it. No matter, she’d get it eventually. She turned the motor of the boat on, watching with sadness as the sharks startled and swam away, and chose the most efficient route back to the shore.
“Efficient,” he said. “Always be efficient. With everything you do.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? She thought. Efficient? To her, that meant rushed. And boring. Mostly boring. Because where’s the fun in just doing something to get it done? Why not take the time to find something fun about it? She humphed at the teacher and went back to her scribbling. Efficient might get things done quickly, but it won’t get them done brilliantly. And all she ever wanted to be was brilliant.
Efficient was the only word one could use to describe her as she bustled round the kitchen, layering pan over pan and cookie sheet underneath the oven, where it usually stayed. Cutting boards seemed to move themselves to the sink, washing themselves under her direction. Knives peeled, chopped, moved to a tune she was humming, and the sauce on the stove seemed to sing the melody.
quiet. like a storm. blazing. the thin trail of smoke it leaves behind. the red orange glow it gives. fire is so efficient. it destroys the evil of today. you cant undo fire. once somethings burned, you cant un-burn it. it will stay scarred. its efficient in doing that. in destroying. only fire isnt just destroying. its destroying so that something else can be created. in its place. so efficient in doing what it does.
He was straight to the point in his correspondence. No silly words no flattery. Just blunt, precise strokes of his pen.
He spoke rarely, but eloquently. Quite unlike the timid man who stumbled over his words as though they were stones, but not unlike a wise old sage who was well beyond his years.
Hans was well beyond his years. Leah wasn’t.
Leah was pure and golden and the sun radiating a thousand times. She was serious, but passionate. Critical and abrupt. Intelligent and everything Hans wasn’t.
Leah could outshine him in any situation. She could radiate the light of the entire universe.
In my work I meander and in my free time I’m lazy and this life isn’t efficient and all of the time I’ve been gifted is squandered or must of it anyway
In a world full of so much beauty it’s nearly impossible to be efficient. Distractions of nature, of life, and humanity. I always wonder what the world would be like without so much work and more enjoyment.
“Are you sure that the server droid at this time is efficient enough?”
“Absolutely,” replied the CEO, folding her arms and hiding a smile behind her lipstick. “It should be ready to replace waiters and bartenders within the next six months. Profits will soar by at least twenty percent in most restaurants.”
“Seems not quite human, ma’am,” mumbled the reporter.
“Of course it isn’t!” she scoffed. “Because the droids aren’t human, silly!”
theres noeasy way to put….being effiecient is mostly about whats not shown in whatever situation we’d be talking about….if you knew all my secrets for what I do yo probably wouldnt say i was efficient….If you knew how long an evolutionar eon is you defiately wouldnt say so …..if you knew how much i thought about this…uuhh…rant. you could say so. im sure we can all imagine me spewing whatever comes to mind and mouth ….just so you can know….your welcome.
Her fingers traveled across the keyboard, flying across each letter, applying just enough pressure for it to show up on the document. Her messy bun followed the movements of her hands, always moving in different directions. Her efficiency caught my attention, such concentration it took to remain in such a position amazed me.
They say to handle every paper on your desk only one time to be efficient. Not stack it in another stack or put it in a miscellaneous file. The problem with that is that then you must actually make decisions.
They say there is only so many ways, to say a thing, but I suppose, that we might as well proceed with the most efficient. I am a liar, a cad, and a fraud.
Shocking yes? Well. I am sure there have been those who thought such. I rose to become king, at the tender age of fourteen. Do you want to know how?
My youth is not a memorable time, and that is what makes it so. I was normal, for a street rat. I lived in a hovel with twenty others, many of them half my age. So when a man, done up in livery, looking almost royal(I know now, he couldn’t have been station or so ahead of us.)appeared, offering a way out, I damn well took it.
There was only one thing I had to do.
“Befriend the prince. Become his confidante. Once he trusts you: steal his form.”
The man I’d met that day, a magician. He taught me all that I needed to know. Black magic, spells forbidden in many parts of the world. Then he dressed me up, and sent me to the castle.
I know not why I was given this mission. Why he wanted me to steal my friend’s body. None of that ever reached me. But, there is a sight inconsistency in it all.
It took three years to do my duty, Art (the prince), died. I took his shape, and then, they trained me up as the prince, thinking that his slum-rat friend gone, and himself magically cured. My prince was sick, treacherously so. After his (my) miraculous recovery, they never sent any doctors, physicians, nothing of the sort. Never. I was left to my own devices. The magician, he returned, and later that year, the king died. When Prince Art became the boy king, he became the adviser. His name was never something I learned, so I called him Magi, and he called me Sooklor (thief).
He died today. Well, not officially yet. Its still dark, and no one will find him until dawn. No I didn’t kill him, nor did I orchestrate his demise.
How do I know then?
Truthfully? Because I woke up as myself.
Granted I was fourteen years older, but as myself, something I abandoned years ago.
But the magician is dead, and King Arthur is gone. I? I will leave, give my bride a kiss, and leave back to the slums.
I was never the king, and I am merely a half rate magician. What good am I in the court?
“Is that really an efficient use of your time, Miss Regan?”
I rolled my eyes, letting my pencil fall down onto the notebook I’d been doodling in for the better part of Mr. Hanover’s lecture on Civil Liberties in the 20th century. “More than this is.” I muttered.
“Come on, come on!” I shout at my sister. It was weird being loud, but they already knew we were here. “Just close your bag and lets go!”
“But we need the supplies,” she retorts, much calmer than I. In an efficient manner she packs everything into her backpack, ignoring the sound of moaning coming from the front porch. This is the first outing we’ve taken since the incident, and I’m not going to lose her. When the door shoves inward I charge towards my sister and grab her, knocking over her carefully gathered supplies. She keeps what she can in the bag, and we race towards the window.
Outside is dark, but quiet, at least at the back of the house. I keep one hand on my sister, the other on my knife. With a terrifying screech, my sister is ripped away from me, and the night comes alive with nightmares.
I try to be efficient but my busy schedule and anxiety hold me back. The less efficient I am the more anxiety , hence the more less efficient. OMG Help Me
I clicked the GO button to find my time was already gone.
This deadly efficiency murdered my resolve to start writing anew.
The world learns through example.
Killing becomes cleaner.
And soon all art will be lost.
She looked at the giggling assembly of motley teenagers in front of her with despair. Her knuckles wrapped tightly around the top of her clipboard and turned white. Norine wanted desperately to get their attention, but she did not know how.
Quickly and carefully she began to work on her essay, the defining masterpiece of her senior year English class. It would be a perfect paper, she swore to herself, absolutely perfect. Nothing could be left to chance here, as she typed efficiently on her glowing laptop.
There was an urge to be efficient. We had little time before but now we had none. We had to create time. Somewhere between licking our wounds and orchestrating this attack, we had to come through.
I am maybe too efficient a person. Is there such a thing? I clean so completely that my house doesn’t look lived in. But It does keep the blood stains down.
My co-worker is really lazy. But also the most efficient person in our company. His work was already done days before the deadline. Until then, he would pretend working while surfing on the net for fun. I once thought his work wouldn’t be good enough because it was done so quickly but our boss always praised him for his accuracy. What a guy.
It’s not the end of the world, yet. I mean, it’s close. But
its not the end. It’s sort of like the beginning actually. Every
thing is starting. Every end is starting. I mean, like, green house
gasses and shit. you catch me.
working at a pace that gets things done without wasting time. being efficient means concise and to the point. no pausing or hesitating. there can be moments of thought and figuring out the best course of action, but then there must be action. thought without action is useless. action without thought is frivolous. a combination of both is powerful. to be efficient we must use what we have and make the best of our current situation. productive days feel efficient because we get things done in a short amount of time, but sometimes what feels productive isn’t necessarily productivity because we often do the easier things first. we lose sight of the bigger picture and focus more on what matters now. so little things get done, but in a week, month, year, there are still loftier goals that we are no closer to than when we first decided to make them.
She’s efficient. No, she’s more than that. She does more than enough. She’s powerful and to be feared. Strong and courageous and one of the very best. Levi needs more than efficiency, he needs near reckless bravery, near god like strength.
When they kiss it’s more than just enough. It’s all and everything. It’s burning and biting and sweet sugar from strawberry rations still on her lips.
She’s efficient, quick to spot the signs, quick to hide it carefully and ask for the doctor. The doctor is efficient, cold and measured. He gives her the tea, has the midwife massage her midsection, lets her yelp in pain and tells her to rest.
Her recovery time is less than a day, because she’s a soldier. She’s strong and brave and efficient. War doesn’t stop for strawberry kisses or little daydreams gone astray in her belly.
Efficiency is what kept her tragedy from hurting Levi any more than it had to.
She’s efficient. No, she’s more than that. She does more than enough. She’s powerful and to be feared. Strong and courageous and one of the very best. Levi needs more than efficiency, he needs near reckless bravery, near god like strength.
When they kiss it’s more than just enough. It’s all and everything. It’s burning and biting and sweet sugar from strawberry rations still on her lips.
She’s efficient, quick to spot the signs, quick to hide it carefully and ask for the doctor. The doctor is efficient, gives her the tea, has the midwife massage her midsection, lets her yelp in pain and tells her to rest.
Her recovery time is less than a day, because she’s a soldier. She’s strong and brave and efficient. War doesn’t stop for strawberry kisses or little thoughts gone astray in her belly.
Efficiency is what kept her tragedy from hurting Levi any more than it had to.
efficient.Lets dance upon the stage, making the most of every movement, every leap in the air, every burst of energy to convey emotion. Good dancers use their energy and their bodies efficiently to become moving works of art.
Today he was more efficient than he ever was before. He finally spoke to the girl that he’d known since grade school. She was different, though. She had a confidence about her that lit up a room but still seemed so shy and timid. Was it him making her this way?
I am efficient when I want to be. But most of the time, efficiency comes naturally. It’s nice to be competent. It’s better to be efficient. Of course, once again, I must look up this word as soon as I’m done typing here. What does it mean to be efficient? It sounds so officious.
Being efficient implies productivity. Productivity implies working towards a goal. Working towards a goal implies an investment in life. An investment in life implies a need for happiness. A need for happiness shouldn’t imply anything other than a need to be happy.
The ambulance attendants were very efficient in tending to the woman as she collapsed to the ground unconscious. They strapped her in and ran to the ambulance taking the necessary time to stabilize the woman. The family, even though worried, were relieved that she would be in good hands away from home.
You caused the nights to become
less like loneliness
and more like efficient heartache
and the way we looked at
each other
in the moonlight
was like the fireworks on the
fourth of July
and there is absolutely nothing in the
world that I would rather do
than be with you by your
side again so you
would not be so lonely
you caused the nights to become
less like loneliness
and more like efficient heartache
and the way we spoke to each
other with snaked tongues
and heated nails
was like the aftermath of a mass
genocide and I swear
there is nothing in the world I would
rather do than hear you tell
me who you really are
and for me to tell you I’m
sorry for believing you
and being pulled into
you
you caused the nights to become
less like loneliness
and more like efficient heartache
but now
you cause my nights to be
less like happiness
and more like efficient suicides
and still I wake
in the morning
because I know you are real
in some way
shape
or form
(even if you’re lying about your
life.)
-a.d.r.
She’s efficient. She’s the god damn queen of efficiency.
She’s not a fighter, she’s a planner, and when her plans go wrong
she has a plan for that. Every second, every possible thing that
could go wrong, every thing that could put her crew in danger –
it’s her job to be two steps ahead. Sleepless nights, burning eyes,
gallons and gallons of coffee – and, of course, that nagging
reminder that her friends are fucked five ways to Sunday if she
doesn’t stay two steps ahead at all times. She’s
efficient.
Productive. The pinnacle of success in the world of manufacturing. A word that means to get things done, albeit at the cost of quality, so that the product is ready-for-use when the need calls. This word calls to mind the smell of oil and the sight of a smoking and monolithically tall chimney rising out of a steel mill set against a backdrop of a gray, cloudy sky.
He was, in fact, a very efficient worker. Sure, nothing
could escape his view when hunting or when writing, but the one
thing above all else Dean Winchester could accomplish was his work.
His line of work included hunting down the nastiest things in
existence and showing them to their grave. A shitty job, one might
think, covered in blood and the screams of innocents lost in the
fray, but who was Dean to care? He was good at his job, and his job
was all he knew. Sam might have another say in the matter entirely,
might tell you that Dean was far better at things that didn’t
include the hunt – But for Dean, it’s all there was. Work never
stopped for him, and boy did he love his job.
Telling every asshole you meet that they are an asshole is
not efficient, you should get a T-shirt made. One that says
“ASSHOLE” in big red letters. And wear it every day.
He grabbed the jug of coffee, the tin of sweetner, and the creamer in one hand, and managed to pull out an empty mug from the dishwasher. Juggling the items he held, he deftly poured the coffee into the mug, added sweetener and creamer, and produced a teaspoon from somewhere and stirred. “There you go,” he said, placing the finished and ready to be drunk mug in front of the stunned girl. “…Wow, you really are efficient,” she said.
“All in a day’s work,” he said, smiling at her. “Besides, I’ve been practicing that thing for years. I *should* be pretty fast by now, right?”
The girl took a sip of coffee. “Mmm, this is good.”
“Of course it is, *I* made it.”
zip zip
“Thank you guys. You’ve been very sufficient.”
“Don’t you mean efficient?”
“Yeah; sufficient means acceptable. ‘We’ve been very acceptable’? Pssh. We rock this. We’re efficient.”
There wasn’t any time to be careful.
She looked over the edge of the boat and saw the huge shark that was circling. If she squinted, she could see more in the dark, murky water of the Atlantic ocean. Though it pained her to turn the motor on, fearing it would hurt one of the sharks, she knew she had to. There was a storm coming. It was audible, and she could feel the crackle of electricity in the air. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to coming to a real conclusion in her research, and of course a storm had to come along and ruin it. No matter, she’d get it eventually. She turned the motor of the boat on, watching with sadness as the sharks startled and swam away, and chose the most efficient route back to the shore.
“Efficient,” he said. “Always be efficient. With everything you do.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean? She thought. Efficient? To her, that meant rushed. And boring. Mostly boring. Because where’s the fun in just doing something to get it done? Why not take the time to find something fun about it? She humphed at the teacher and went back to her scribbling. Efficient might get things done quickly, but it won’t get them done brilliantly. And all she ever wanted to be was brilliant.
Efficient was the only word one could use to describe her as she bustled round the kitchen, layering pan over pan and cookie sheet underneath the oven, where it usually stayed. Cutting boards seemed to move themselves to the sink, washing themselves under her direction. Knives peeled, chopped, moved to a tune she was humming, and the sauce on the stove seemed to sing the melody.
Efficiency was the only word for it.
quiet. like a storm. blazing. the thin trail of smoke it leaves behind. the red orange glow it gives. fire is so efficient. it destroys the evil of today. you cant undo fire. once somethings burned, you cant un-burn it. it will stay scarred. its efficient in doing that. in destroying. only fire isnt just destroying. its destroying so that something else can be created. in its place. so efficient in doing what it does.
Hans Vielhaber was an efficient man.
He was straight to the point in his correspondence. No silly words no flattery. Just blunt, precise strokes of his pen.
He spoke rarely, but eloquently. Quite unlike the timid man who stumbled over his words as though they were stones, but not unlike a wise old sage who was well beyond his years.
Hans was well beyond his years. Leah wasn’t.
Leah was pure and golden and the sun radiating a thousand times. She was serious, but passionate. Critical and abrupt. Intelligent and everything Hans wasn’t.
Leah could outshine him in any situation. She could radiate the light of the entire universe.
She was the least efficient being in Hans’ life.
In my work I meander and in my free time I’m lazy and this life isn’t efficient and all of the time I’ve been gifted is squandered or must of it anyway
In a world full of so much beauty it’s nearly impossible to be efficient. Distractions of nature, of life, and humanity. I always wonder what the world would be like without so much work and more enjoyment.
“Are you sure that the server droid at this time is efficient enough?”
“Absolutely,” replied the CEO, folding her arms and hiding a smile behind her lipstick. “It should be ready to replace waiters and bartenders within the next six months. Profits will soar by at least twenty percent in most restaurants.”
“Seems not quite human, ma’am,” mumbled the reporter.
“Of course it isn’t!” she scoffed. “Because the droids aren’t human, silly!”
I am not efficient and the time clock is broken.
theres noeasy way to put….being effiecient is mostly about whats not shown in whatever situation we’d be talking about….if you knew all my secrets for what I do yo probably wouldnt say i was efficient….If you knew how long an evolutionar eon is you defiately wouldnt say so …..if you knew how much i thought about this…uuhh…rant. you could say so. im sure we can all imagine me spewing whatever comes to mind and mouth ….just so you can know….your welcome.
Her fingers traveled across the keyboard, flying across each letter, applying just enough pressure for it to show up on the document. Her messy bun followed the movements of her hands, always moving in different directions. Her efficiency caught my attention, such concentration it took to remain in such a position amazed me.
They say to handle every paper on your desk only one time to be efficient. Not stack it in another stack or put it in a miscellaneous file. The problem with that is that then you must actually make decisions.
They say there is only so many ways, to say a thing, but I suppose, that we might as well proceed with the most efficient. I am a liar, a cad, and a fraud.
Shocking yes? Well. I am sure there have been those who thought such. I rose to become king, at the tender age of fourteen. Do you want to know how?
My youth is not a memorable time, and that is what makes it so. I was normal, for a street rat. I lived in a hovel with twenty others, many of them half my age. So when a man, done up in livery, looking almost royal(I know now, he couldn’t have been station or so ahead of us.)appeared, offering a way out, I damn well took it.
There was only one thing I had to do.
“Befriend the prince. Become his confidante. Once he trusts you: steal his form.”
The man I’d met that day, a magician. He taught me all that I needed to know. Black magic, spells forbidden in many parts of the world. Then he dressed me up, and sent me to the castle.
I know not why I was given this mission. Why he wanted me to steal my friend’s body. None of that ever reached me. But, there is a sight inconsistency in it all.
It took three years to do my duty, Art (the prince), died. I took his shape, and then, they trained me up as the prince, thinking that his slum-rat friend gone, and himself magically cured. My prince was sick, treacherously so. After his (my) miraculous recovery, they never sent any doctors, physicians, nothing of the sort. Never. I was left to my own devices. The magician, he returned, and later that year, the king died. When Prince Art became the boy king, he became the adviser. His name was never something I learned, so I called him Magi, and he called me Sooklor (thief).
He died today. Well, not officially yet. Its still dark, and no one will find him until dawn. No I didn’t kill him, nor did I orchestrate his demise.
How do I know then?
Truthfully? Because I woke up as myself.
Granted I was fourteen years older, but as myself, something I abandoned years ago.
But the magician is dead, and King Arthur is gone. I? I will leave, give my bride a kiss, and leave back to the slums.
I was never the king, and I am merely a half rate magician. What good am I in the court?
“Is that really an efficient use of your time, Miss Regan?”
I rolled my eyes, letting my pencil fall down onto the notebook I’d been doodling in for the better part of Mr. Hanover’s lecture on Civil Liberties in the 20th century. “More than this is.” I muttered.
I will my hands
To get work done
They never still
Till the sun is gone
I think and work
I work and think
But I am not yet amply efficient.
“Come on, come on!” I shout at my sister. It was weird being loud, but they already knew we were here. “Just close your bag and lets go!”
“But we need the supplies,” she retorts, much calmer than I. In an efficient manner she packs everything into her backpack, ignoring the sound of moaning coming from the front porch. This is the first outing we’ve taken since the incident, and I’m not going to lose her. When the door shoves inward I charge towards my sister and grab her, knocking over her carefully gathered supplies. She keeps what she can in the bag, and we race towards the window.
Outside is dark, but quiet, at least at the back of the house. I keep one hand on my sister, the other on my knife. With a terrifying screech, my sister is ripped away from me, and the night comes alive with nightmares.
I try to be efficient but my busy schedule and anxiety hold me back. The less efficient I am the more anxiety , hence the more less efficient. OMG Help Me
I clicked the GO button to find my time was already gone.
This deadly efficiency murdered my resolve to start writing anew.
The world learns through example.
Killing becomes cleaner.
And soon all art will be lost.
She looked at the giggling assembly of motley teenagers in front of her with despair. Her knuckles wrapped tightly around the top of her clipboard and turned white. Norine wanted desperately to get their attention, but she did not know how.
“Um, guys? Can we please get going…”
Quickly and carefully she began to work on her essay, the defining masterpiece of her senior year English class. It would be a perfect paper, she swore to herself, absolutely perfect. Nothing could be left to chance here, as she typed efficiently on her glowing laptop.
There was an urge to be efficient. We had little time before but now we had none. We had to create time. Somewhere between licking our wounds and orchestrating this attack, we had to come through.
I am maybe too efficient a person. Is there such a thing? I clean so completely that my house doesn’t look lived in. But It does keep the blood stains down.
My co-worker is really lazy. But also the most efficient person in our company. His work was already done days before the deadline. Until then, he would pretend working while surfing on the net for fun. I once thought his work wouldn’t be good enough because it was done so quickly but our boss always praised him for his accuracy. What a guy.
It’s not the end of the world, yet. I mean, it’s close. But
its not the end. It’s sort of like the beginning actually. Every
thing is starting. Every end is starting. I mean, like, green house
gasses and shit. you catch me.
working at a pace that gets things done without wasting time. being efficient means concise and to the point. no pausing or hesitating. there can be moments of thought and figuring out the best course of action, but then there must be action. thought without action is useless. action without thought is frivolous. a combination of both is powerful. to be efficient we must use what we have and make the best of our current situation. productive days feel efficient because we get things done in a short amount of time, but sometimes what feels productive isn’t necessarily productivity because we often do the easier things first. we lose sight of the bigger picture and focus more on what matters now. so little things get done, but in a week, month, year, there are still loftier goals that we are no closer to than when we first decided to make them.
American bullshit. I hate time. Time counting. Time
keeping. Wasting time? How can you waste time? It’s not an object.
Life is life. Ignore the clock.
She’s efficient. No, she’s more than that. She does more than enough. She’s powerful and to be feared. Strong and courageous and one of the very best. Levi needs more than efficiency, he needs near reckless bravery, near god like strength.
When they kiss it’s more than just enough. It’s all and everything. It’s burning and biting and sweet sugar from strawberry rations still on her lips.
She’s efficient, quick to spot the signs, quick to hide it carefully and ask for the doctor. The doctor is efficient, cold and measured. He gives her the tea, has the midwife massage her midsection, lets her yelp in pain and tells her to rest.
Her recovery time is less than a day, because she’s a soldier. She’s strong and brave and efficient. War doesn’t stop for strawberry kisses or little daydreams gone astray in her belly.
Efficiency is what kept her tragedy from hurting Levi any more than it had to.
She’s efficient. No, she’s more than that. She does more than enough. She’s powerful and to be feared. Strong and courageous and one of the very best. Levi needs more than efficiency, he needs near reckless bravery, near god like strength.
When they kiss it’s more than just enough. It’s all and everything. It’s burning and biting and sweet sugar from strawberry rations still on her lips.
She’s efficient, quick to spot the signs, quick to hide it carefully and ask for the doctor. The doctor is efficient, gives her the tea, has the midwife massage her midsection, lets her yelp in pain and tells her to rest.
Her recovery time is less than a day, because she’s a soldier. She’s strong and brave and efficient. War doesn’t stop for strawberry kisses or little thoughts gone astray in her belly.
Efficiency is what kept her tragedy from hurting Levi any more than it had to.