Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock

"Time is but an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so."

Perhaps one of my favorite quotes of all times. Time seems to rule our lives. There's either too much of it (if you're waiting for something) or not nearly enough. It is spent, wasted, or killed. The fallacy is that it always proceeds at the same pace: always 60 minutes in an hour, always 24 hours in a day, 7 days a week and so on. But while technically all hours are the same, I find the older I get the faster time seems to go. I recall a quote from my younger days (pull up a rocker and listen to your cracked auntie) that said something to the effect the mistake that young people make is that they believe the second half of their lives will be as long as the first. My life seems to be spinning incredibly fast, like a marble in one of those gravity wells as it approaches the center. Oh, I don't mean I'm going to kick off any time soon (at least I hope not), but I have to admit I've been having a harder and harder time managing my time. It seems like after I get everything done that has to be done, there's no time left for anything else. And if there is time, there is seldom enough energy.

Truthfully, that's where the whole paranoia about writing comes into play. I have hundreds of ideas dancing in my head, but there never seems to be enough time to write them all down. I kind of made a promise to myself to not write something new until I edited the book I already finished, but now I'm not even doing that. I want to write, it's just that I feel guilty using my time to do so - there's always something else that needs done. I know, I know, just set aside a certain amount of time to write everyday. But that's easier said than done - what if I don't WANT to write that day? What if I want to write more but I have this arbitrary limit?

*Sigh* I feel a lot like Rimmer from Red Dwarf anymore, continually revising my schedule to the point where I don't have time to actually do anything.