The weekend winds down. It never seems long enough.
We count the days down one by one. Monday afternoon I think, “One down, four to go” Tuesday. “Two down, three to go” and so on and so on and Scooby dooby do!
Now that I am nearing 50, all time flies by. I’m surprised that when I look back over the events of the day, that I don’t see them in a blur. I get up at the last possible minute. I can do that now that my daughter is 13 and I don’t have to feed her, dress her and do her hair. She does that now, thank goodness. Sleep is a relative word here, I take five 9 minute cat naps. The alarm blares at 5:30, I go to the clock (I’d never make it if I kept it in reach) hit the snooze and sink back into bed, when the alarm goes off nine minutes later and I repeat at 9 minutes intervals til 6:06.
Time flies and suddenly I’ve got exactly no minutes to get dressed, and it’s a mad last minute rush while Chris sits ready on the couch twitching nervously cos she’s one of those “leave early” type of people. Obviously a disgusting trait inherited from her father.
No matter how quickly I move, (I can move fast when I have to, many of you think I have one speed, plod, but I can scamper when necessary.) I always manage to get everyone where they need to be on time, I don’t know how, 6:06 to 8:07 is a total blur.
Everything moves speedily along, lunch time comes and goes, then *smeck*, the drowsies ascend, you tank up on a cuppa joe and hope that the afternoon isn’t draggy.
I feel as if I’m wishing my life away, minute by minute. I catch myself thinking, “I can’t wait til 4:30” then I mentally scold myself for wishing time would pass faster than it already does.
Minutes to days, M-F to the weekend, the weekend flies by. Days to weeks, week to months, months to years. It’s almost April already, the first quarter of 2010 almost over, it’s unreal.
I get to thinking about something someone told me the other day and I come to the realization that was the year before the last. Where does time go? It’s a cliché, the older you get the faster time passes. It’s true though, as most clichés turn out to be.