Stories from a life in progress.

Getting away

Time gets away from me these days. The week comes in and the week goes out, and I'm tired at the end of it but not sure why it's already gone.

Sometimes I feel like I'm making progress; a lot of the time I feel like I'm just collecting big to-do piles.

I am accepting the fact that it's March because I have to, because it's true. But it still feels like I just moved over here, that the time between the middle of January and the beginning of March went missing somehow, like maybe it's packed in one of the boxes in the basement and I wish I knew which one it were in. Like my collection of bookmarks or my good spatulas, I'd kind of like to have use of that time. Maybe not right now, but at least to know it's available if I want it.

Spring is getting closer all the time. I'm not completely sure what I think about that.

Mostly, I worry whether I'm using this speedy time well. Am I doing work that matters? Am I doing work at all, or is this just fiddling around? Do I have what it takes to forge this time into something productive and valuable, or is my confusion the sign that I'm not cut out to not have a boss bossing me around?

Worrying is time-consuming, though. It doesn't produce much, and nobody pays you to do it.

It's nearly 3:00 in the afternoon, and I don't know what today is for yet. I finished one critical thing, and made one trip across country for another vital thing, and now I have a gap of time before I go off to taiji class, a personally valuable thing. How much can I do with a couple of hours in the afternoon? What will make this an afternoon well-spent?

Time is getting away. It's been weeks since I wrote anything to put here in my own space, and all I can think to say today is that time is escaping me