Time

Time is the enemy. There is never enough of it. I did a personal evaluation a few months ago and determined that I had approximately 1.7 to 2.3 hours of free time a day. Depending on how much sleep I get. In actuality that ‘free’ time is bundled up on weekends, not parceled out throughout the week. As a practical example of the fact, the four sentences written above were typed 6 days ago. I am just getting back to a point where I can revisit this topic. Now, I am perfectly aware that during the week I, just like most non-type-A personalities, waste a lot of time. My primary problem is that I am incapable of switching from task to task instantaneously. Kind of like the dubious claims of being able to multitask on an old Pentium computer running windows 98. Many of the things I want or need to do need blocks of time; If I have a spare 15 minutes it isn’t really conducive to beginning a remodeling project. Writing is like that. To move into it I need time and a certain level of privacy, something difficult to obtain with 3 children in the house. I appreciate that when I come home there is a certain level of competition to see who gets daddy first and longest. Just like there is a certain appreciation of the competition to see who gets to sit by daddy at church. ‘Move in and sit down! I don’t have three sides! Somebody has to sit at the end!’ Don’t wish it away. The point comes all too soon when they are okay with not sitting by you, or they would prefer to hang with their friends. The day when the small hand does not automatically reach for yours is bittersweet.