Musing on Time & Writing
I get busy with a project and find three hours have passed. I intend to spend only 20 minutes on a blog post or reading a fascinating article online, and instead I jump to another post or another article or decide I need a graphic and spend an hour and a half designing an image.
It’s not that I can’t work to a deadline. When I have one, I’m diligent and focused. But when I have nearly unlimited time, I use it. Maybe I abuse it and that’s why it leaves me so quickly. Doesn’t Time enjoy being with me? Maybe Time doesn’t like my activities? Maybe Time just tires and decides to move on, to visit with someone who moves slower, who gives Time, rather than activities, the attention.
I most focus on time when I’m pushed to complete a task, knowing that a ticking clock hangs over my shoulder (and on my wrist, in my cell phone, and in the taskbar of my computer). I also think of time when I’m working at 2 or 3 in the morning, alone with my thoughts and my emotions and the words I’m wrestling into some sort of meaning. In the dark hours, Time seems more my friend, more a companion, than a force pushing me toward frustration. In the night, Time is gentler, slower-moving. Less strident.
Time is my friend. Am I greedy in wanting more of him?