Listen to Jim:
http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/thediceofthegodsarealwaysloaded.mp3
or read on…
The early hint of pending sunrise stirs something within me and I open my eyes for a split second, just to see whether I’m really awake or just dreaming another neverending dream about waking up.
Looks like a new day is about to occur.
I turn over on my side and hug the pillow, wishing for one more minute of sweet sleep, wondering if it’s still nighttime or just dark and cloudy. What time must it be? Hmmm. I punch the tiny light on the bedside alarm clock and see that it’s already 7:21 a.m.—just about the exact time that I awaken every day.
Will today be different from yesterday? I squint and try to visualize my pocket calendar. What was I supposed to do on the way to work this morning? Maybe make a bank deposit, perhaps purchase a new supply of MoonPies for the shop, drop off the laundry…things like that.
I lie suspended, backtiming my schedule from 10:30 a.m. when the bookstore doors must open, to right now. Each chore will take a certain amount of time to accomplish. If I don’t dawdle, I should be able to get everything done by then, plus do all the rituals: shower, brush, dry, primp, dress, greet Liz, pack a lunchbag, take out the trash, jumpstart the station wagon.
All told, everything will take exactly enough time to fill the period between 7:21 and 10:30. It always does.
How does this work?
Well, it’s kind of like life, isn’t it? I receive the gift of 24 hours every 24 hours. It’s groundhog day every day, with variations.
If I always have 24 hours to use, how come I conjure up carloads of excuses for NOT having 24 hours? I hear myself and others saying, “I don’t have time to read anymore.” “I want to write but I just don’t have time.” “Someday, when I get the time, I want to learn to play chess.” “I ran out of time and didn’t get to it.” “Time flies.” “I need an extra hour in the day.” “Where does the time go?” And so on.
Sounds like I use this made-up construct, TIME, as my excuse for everything I don’t get done. It’s pretty handy, a universally applied technique for not fulfilling potential.
So, what is my point? By now, I should be saying something sage to clear up this tangled mess of thoughts, something you and I can take with us and ruminate over during the available 24 hours.
I guess I’m just chastising myself, reminding myself to stop making excuses for not having enough time. For every hour that I waste channel-surfing or facebooking or tweeting, I could be fulfilling my dream of writing the Great American Book page by page by page. For every hour I spend gossiping or idly chatting or taking up with people I’m supposed to take up with (as opposed to those I really WANT to take up with), I could be addressing the hundredfold procrastinated projects I know should be tackled. But my addiction to wasting chunks of 24 hours seems pervasive and difficult to lick.
So, what about that interval between 7:21 and 10:30? If I weren’t afraid to accomplish many things outside my comfort zone, I could do twice as much and make myself proud. For instance, I could stop for three minutes and write Liz a love note. I could pause and exchange pleasantries with the elderly man passing by the house. I could clean out the back seat of the wagon so that it didn’t have the appearance of a thrift store cart. I could lope around the block and work on reducing my Pillsbury Doughboy waistline.
Dream on.
It’s so comfortable to follow a routine each day, stretching it out in order not to face utilizing time wisely.
The only way I can make myself feel better about this situation is to make time-squandering my full-time vocation. I could tell folks that it is my profession, this stretching out of time, this meandering to avoid taking life head-on.
If I convince myself of this fabricated truth, then I can feel comfortable and satisfied that life is great and that I’m living the 7:21 dream to its fullest.
Time-squanderers of the world, unite and proceed! So far, we’re doing a great job
© 2013 A.D. by Jim Reed