Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, twenty four hours in a day, seven days in a week. Time marches on. It goes fast, it goes slow…it just goes. Never to return.
It feels like just the other day I penned my first post of 2018, full of high hopes and aspirations of returning to a regular schedule of updates here and yet it’s mid-April and, if I actually get around to posting this, this will be my second post of the year.
It’s not for the want of trying. I have just reviewed and deleted four draft posts. They were all long and unwieldy and the best form of editing was clicking the ‘move to bin’ link as no amount of tinkering would have made them worth the effort, not for me and certainly not for you.
I think part of the problem is I got bored and/or distracted and I’d obviously thought that if I saved them I could return to finish them later but left them for so long that by the time I returned I’d forgotten what my intentions were and rather than pull the plug I’d kept them in my draft folder reasoning that as I’d bothered to hammer out five hundred odd words a piece, it would be terrible to waste them. Who was I kidding? Rhetorical question. I wasn’t fooling myself, I was just pretending to myself that I was fooled. The double-bluff.
That’s the secret isn’t it? Knowing when to pull the plug. I recently finished a bout of therapy, I’d returned to the shrink following the death of my mother at the end of last year and one of my, many, revelations was that I have issues about pulling the plug on certain things. Friendships that had, at best, turned to acquaintanceships, mediocre TV shows I’ve been downloading for years, no longer interested in the characters but reluctant to let them go.
What I do with this new-found knowledge on myself I’m not quite sure about, will I use it to change for the better? It’s certainly a nice idea but knowing myself as I do, I’m skeptical. However, even as I type this I’m telling myself that if I don’t change, what was the point of spending an hour every week dredging up the past? Why had I, sometimes painfully, re-lived episodes that I had buried deep down in some vain hope of forgetting them if not to bring about a change in what I do going forward? More rhetorical questions. I have lots. Lots.
If we want things to stay as they are, something has to change. Right?