Somehow it’s half past midnight - or “half past my bedtime”, as my middle daughter might have said when she was young.
I’m not really sure how the universe works any more - maybe I never really knew. At the end of each day I finish work, switch off my work laptop, and before I know it the hour hand on the clock has accelerated through 9, 10, 11 and on towards 1am.
Where does the time go?
There’s a little red notebook on my desk - bought during our recent long weekend away. A “Moleskine” notebook. During it’s first days in my possession I tried to forge the habit of writing in it each evening. I was quite proud of myself. And then I missed a day. And another. It’s been a week now.
I still haven’t been running either.
For a while I entertained the idea of running at lunchtime. I used to run at lunchtime quite often. But then days like today happen - where you walk into the kitchen, spend twenty minutes washing up, walk into town to get something to eat, and end up eating over your desk just before starting work again.
I swear - somebody, somewhere is stealing all the time.
Maybe I need to refactor everything. Take a step back. Stop chasing everything, everywhere, all at once. Actually take a night (or lunchtime) off from time to time - watch movies, read books, and write in the little red book. The cclothes, washing up and clutter will still be there later - it doesn’t have to be sorted out the moment you discover it (I’m talking to myself while writing this, just so you know).
Trying to run in every direction doing everything all the time is probably a good way of triggering ADHD.
It struck me - while writing in the little red book last week - how much more mental processing is required when writing by hand. In a word-processor you can pretty much empty your head, and tidy it up later. On paper, unless you want to fill the page with scribble you have to actually think first. Shocking, right?
I guess that’s half the attraction of blogging though - blog posts are much closer to the truth than carefully curated, prepared swathes of text. Unfiltered, unvarnished words - conjured somewhere between my brain and fingers. Quite obviously outside my brain some days.
Most of all, I need to make more time to catch up with friends, both near and far. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper conversation with any of them. What’s the line from the Shining? “Too much work and not enough play makes Jack a dull boy”?
I’ve been here before, of course. Many times.
Anyway.
It’s getting late. I should stop writing, post this, and go brush my teeth. The temptation to jump down the internet rabbit hole is strong, but not insurmountable.
Maybe the first change I make should be grabbing a book at bedtime, rather than any sort of internet connected device.