At lunch last week, my good friend B relayed her tween’s announcement, “You know, 12:17 is my freak-out time.” And apparently it was. She saved her particular brand of crazy for that moment and let it fly. My friend couldn’t say she wasn’t warned.

I am all for it. In fact, I think we should expand the concept. The school I went to had a “primal scream” the Sunday before finals at precisely 9 pm, which some took as the indicator to start studying.

So, let’s say each of us has designated, pre-approved points during the day where we get a free pass. My day might look something like this:

5:57 Passing amount of guilt for not getting in early morning work-out

7:19 Mini-tantrum regarding packing school lunch

8:58 Undirected, unspecified panic

10:23 Spark of brilliance

11:47-1:38 Lost time spent trying to recover spark of brilliance

4:16 Resignation that nothing else productive will happen today

5:29 Inspiration to start new hobby

5:31 Decision to abandon new hobby

5:57 Slow realization that Child Protective Services does not consider frozen waffles a suitable meal

8:32 Buoyant appreciation for 2+ hours to myself to practice yoga, play piano, start and finish the book club book, re-work 4th grade art project, catch up on Newsweek, watch last month’s DVR selections, take my turn on Words with Friends, and start a NYT crossword

8:33 Deep despair and recalibration of expectations

10:40 Blog about it