Minus the caffeine pill addiction, but it’s how I feel way more often than naught.
I have a lot of things that I feel I need to do: edit down nearly 2,000 pictures from Europe and Korea. Write about experiences in Korea. Build a prop. Take care of household chores, like replacing the kitchen light and paring down the shrubs. Write some more, about random, inane things for a brog that’s been down since fucking April, that nobody will see until I migrate my site. Clean my house, so that I can someday sell my house. I need a haircut.
So what do I do? Write about how I feel like I don’t have enough time, or any time, instead.
In my defense, I am currently not in a place where I can do much of my self-imposed workload, although I could write about Korea but I was there for two weeks how can i parse it all down to a few words???
But it’s frustrating, this lack of time, and it gets to me sometimes. I often exist with this feeling of being stretched thin, between two or three concurrent lives; being a boyfriend, a homeowner, and a worker. The places in which each of these lives are all so far apart from one another, that the time it takes to get from one place to the other adds to the frustration, and leads to this disheartening downward spiral of feeling like there’s just never enough time.
I pass by mirrors and stare at my reflection sometimes, at this person scrambling around his existence, trying to pare down a checklist that never seems to have an end. Even the littlest tasks make their way onto the checklist, and I’m often prioritizing and re-prioritizing the things I need to do, tackling the tiny to clear way for the large, or things that hold more weight and needs to be done regardless of else is on the list.
I need to do this thing on my computer. But I should brush my teeth first. But I should let dog out before that. And I should probably take the trash out to the curb so that this week doesn’t get skipped and we end up with an overflowing trashcan next week. Before I know it, 15 minutes have passed, and that’s a quarter hour. In 15 more minutes is a half hour, and then 30 minutes until the next hour doesn’t seem like enough time to bother getting started on something, because I wanted to plan to be preparing for bed in an hour, a quarter hour ago.
Honestly, there’s probably something wrong with me, or some sort of clinical name for the anxiety I feel about there being a lack of time. Or maybe I have just been operating with way too full of a plate for the last month(s). Regardless, I feel like I’m reaching my wit’s end with this feeling, and I’m often pining for a time in which I don’t have to worry about anything.
Ironically, there was a time in my life where I felt that there should always be something to look forward to. Like when I had no trip, no milestone or a date in fall to look forward to, I’d feel anxious and aimless. 2016 has had many things on the horizon, and I’ve always been approaching a date, conversely, and it’s honestly starting to get overwhelming. Fortunately, there’s really only one more thing planned for the year, and then there’s a fairly blank calendar afterwards.
Once November rolls around, I legitimately do not want to plan anything else. For the rest of the year, preferably. I just want to catch up on things, let my finances exhale, let myself exhale, and just simply exist. I am so tired of feeling like that there’s not enough time, and I want nothing more than to wake up one weekend morning, and do absolutely jack shit.
