Time, Time, Time

One of my bestest friends on the entire planet has an incredibly terrible sense of time. She believes it will take her an hour to do what anyone else will give themselves a day to accomplish. She has practically no sense about a day having 24 hours and some of them you might want to allocate to sleep. And she still hasn't mastered the time zones, even though I explain to her that they actually don't change twice a year.

I bring up her temporal dyslexia because I am experiencing something like it myself. I know I have a finite task in front of me. I can see, smell, taste and touch what needs to be done but somehow the more I work the slower the progress. This is not a writing project where I could blame excessive editing or flights of the muse for the pace. Nope, this be a real in-the-world labor with things and items and stuff.

Some evil imp is clearly adding work from the bottom of the pile. It could be a loaves and fishes thing, perhaps some manifesting algorithm is in play. Whatever the explanation, I am not going to succumb to the inferior explanation that I just allocated less time than the task required. No there is some nefarious collision of universes here, I will accept no lesser explantion.

In the meantime, I will be late for all engagements and quickly looking around often in an attempt to spot the metaphysical gamin, gnome or gremlin which is clearly vexing my path forward. My kingdom for a 196 hour week and more mothballs.