Time is a strange thing.  It runs slow when you are young or when you are waiting for timesomething good to happen and it runs too fast as you grow older or when you want to sleep but can’t.  It gives perspective and dulls memories.

It is something we never have enough of, yet we spend it as if we have an infinite amount.

Everything has a “time limit”.  Songs, television shows, and books are written about it.  We get paid by the “hour” and count things down to the “minute”.  We are obsessed with time but it is an oblivious obsession to many.

timerunIn almost four hours (3 hours and 50 minutes) I have to go pick my children up from their father’s house, where they spent the weekend. (72 hours) In a little over 12 hours I have to go back to work. (12 hours and 49 minutes) Where I will work a 10 hour shift with a 30 minute lunch.

At some point I need to “find the time” to sleep, go grocery shopping, hang my new set of wind chimes on the porch, wash clothes, and add at least another two hundred words to my work in progress.

It seems odd how something so intangible is so important and so abstract.  I think the David Tennant, playing the 10th Doctor from Doctor Who, described it best when he said:doctor wibbily   “People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it’s more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… stuff.”

This post took 28 minutes to write. 😉    (I had cat interruptions.)

Published by: thecoffeefox

Once upon a time there was a woman who was a writer. She was either cursed or blessed from birth to be so and there was much debate on which it was. One day a very discouraging (and not very original) person told her not to give up her day job. The woman smiled and said that was a wonderful idea. Following the unwittingly clever advice of her critic, the woman found a job working nights, which left her days free to write. Even better, the night job had an unusual schedule which packed two weeks worth of work into one, so the writer was able to have every other week off to sit on her front porch, daydream, and of course write. However, working at night and writing during the day left little time for sleep, so the poor writer occasionally went a little mad, but she decided it was an acceptable price to pay to be able to continue following her curse-blessing. Also she likes tea. :)

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