Tree of productivity

Everyone needs, I think, un arbol de la productividad , a place perhaps real, perhaps mystical, where they can go for that extra push... like when the dissertation is moving along slower than a galapagos turtle (eh, I.S.?), or the jarchas feel like escarcha across the eyeballs, and the glazed look seems permanently tatooed on your countenance. It is then that I go to my tree of productivity and lay belly down in the grass. It doesn't take long, and there is no way I could spend the whole day in the sun (just think what the dermatologist might say!), beyond the sleepy factor, the itchy factor generally sets in after about an hour and a half, but it holds some sort of magical sway over me, requiring that I return to the text, eliminating extraneous thoughts (far from the computer!) and focus. If I were into yoga, which I wish I were but I just don't have the time (don't start, I am taking baby steps, all the culpability about not being other-centered enough makes it hard enough to get to the pool every day) I would consider this being my meditative spot. It is inexplicable, and totally aleatory, but it works for me, so I don't question it.