Let it be known that I highly approve of flex.
Flex is wondrous, flex is superb, flex is the reason I did not go in to work today. Because all those extra minutes each day turn into extra hours each week — which means I've already worked today and didn't need to do it again.
This, my friends, is sheer genius.
If only it worked on novels as well, I would have already written my entire life's oeuvre and could spend this evening lolling on a couch.1
- Er, provided I had a couch. Note to self: buy a couch already! [↩]