I wonder if facing the passage of time is harder or easier for underachievers. I suppose I belong to that generation where underachieving isn’t necessarily a bad thing; blame it on Bart Simpson.
I’ve always been pretty laid back about everything. As usual, I’m thinking my sister would disagree. I suppose I often seem serious and intense to her but that’s not quite true. I have to really, really, really want something to dedicate much time or effort to it. So, the state of my life now, I know I haven’t got anyone else to point the finger at. How badly do I want to succeed is one of the scariest questions I have to face.
Talking about my life, it seems that I ought to have time for at least half the shit I want to do that always ends up with me not getting it done. You know how you tell yourself you’re going to learn to play the piano, bake a cake, speak another language, or get more exercise yet never quite get around to any of it? That’s a little bit like me. It makes me wonder where a chunk of my time goes. I wish I can blame it on too much booze and partying but I can’t even do that—and I can only blame perhaps a quarter of it to ze migraine attacks.
It seems so easy to plan to set aside an hour a day to do something but you know what they say about God and plans…
As I do this little examination about my time, I wonder what I’ll be saying about it a few months down the road. While I’m not expecting a major uptick in my time management capabilities, I do hope there’s movement of the positive side.
Tempus fugit. May I fugit right along with it.