With the absence of anything significant going on in what I laughably call “my life” this weekend, I find myself working once again.
Somehow between scraping myself out of bed at 9 this morning, having a shower, getting dressed, drinking a cup of tea and sorting out my email, I have already eaten a couple of hours out of the day.
Isn’t it interesting how any amount of “spare” time you think you may have will be filled with any number of activities that arrive out of nowhere. Perhaps the concept of “spare time” is a misnomer.
If there really was such a thing as “spare time”, we should be able to use it. When you are rushing to catch a train, you could throw a chunk of your saved-up spare time in front of yourself, and push the impending future a bit further away.
You think I’m mad now, don’t you. Perhaps working through the weekend does this to me. I need to be rescued from my work by some kind soul who passes by and reads this most bizarre SOS.
Perhaps if I could really save time I could sit and read the pile of books on my “to be read” list - which at the moment includes “Catch 22” (half read), “The Time Traveller’s Wife”, “The Idiot”, “The Mayor of Casterbridge”, and “War and Peace”. I’ve always wanted to read “War and Peace”, but somewhat naively imagined I might have enough time this year to read the damn thing.