Time. Gimme, gimme, gimme



When my daughter was really young she loved stories or movies that involved magic, Harry Potter, Sabrina the teenage witch. Afterwards she always asked me what would be the first thing I would do if I were magic. We would then go on to count all the exciting things we could do. Hers were always such small and innocent wishes like making the small statue of the panther she saw in a shop window appear in her bedroom, which was so endearing because mine where always so grandiose and, dare I say at times, greedy.

But I’m totally diverging here from what I wanted to say. Who feels they are not getting ahead? The days pass and I don’t stop doing and yet I still feel I’m far from what I want to achieve. Both my hands are in the air.

Why is it the geniuses that developed time only gave us twenty-four hours in a day, especially since some of that time must be wasted sleeping? Right now, if my daughter asked me what I would do with that magic wand, you guessed it, I would ask for more time. OR I would chose to became a Cullen. I don’t want to be a vampire but needing no sleep would be a really handy thing. I sometimes pretend I don’t need to sleep and stay up doing until the early hours of the morning, but it never works as the next day is wasted when I fall asleep every time I sit down.

I want to write more than I can. I want to read more than I do. I want to finish that course I paid for and haven’t even started yet. I want to get ahead on my business side of writing. I want to spend time with my kids these holidays because I’m acutely aware of how fast they are growing—soon I will only get captured moments of time with them squeezed in between their busy young adult lives. The house work, well forget about that. The house can rot for all I care—but everyone else in the house, especially my husband, doesn’t hold my opinion (truth be told, neither do I really. I can only leave mess for so long before it needs to be gone). At some point I need to fit in my husband as he gets pretty lonely on the couch all by himself night after night while I’m punching the keyboard. There are friends lurking too, in the background somewhere that pop up every so often and say, ‘hey, remember us.’

What I need is a schedule. And what I need is to follow that schedule for more than a week. In fact, what I need most of all is a personality change. I need to morph into that person who develops order not chaos, operates as a systemic machine not a emotional human being. Perhaps that’s too much to wish for. How about another me. An almost perfect copy of me that can do the boring bits, the heavy slog and free me up for the fun stuff, everything that stimulates me and makes me feel alive (sadly those times are quite often squashed between the cracks of all the other important stuff).

None of the above is going to happen any time soon, so I guess I’ll just have to settle for being really tired, unless anyone can give me some suggestions.




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