A problem with time

A recent spate of blog-writing amongst my friends has ignited this itch, long hiding within some recesses of my soul, to start typing away on my blog again. And gosh! The last entry in my blog was written more than 4 months ago. Most remarkably, I was whinging about my lack of commitment to writing in my blog ... it is laughable, and rather painfully ironical, that my self-developed technique to induce more writing on my part actually backfired. Instead of producing a flurry of entries on my blog, I created a 4 month blog-drought!

Except that .... this time round it was not for the lack of commitment that caused my writing juices to run dry, but it was a result of my preoccupation with a bigger problem that I am having lots of trouble with - a lack of time.

I have found the perfect excuse ... I simply don't have enough Time for myself! No one can fault me for that ... unlike commitment, whose very paucity can be confronted with due diligence; unlike lack of inspiration, which can be dealt with by scooping on gossip from certain *ahem* friends; or unlike, to cite a highly improbable case, me not having internet, which can be overcome by tapping onto my neighbour's wireless network. *sneaky laughter*

Everyone's only given 24 hours a day. There's simply no way for me to get around that! I cannot cheat Time, I cannot add a few more hours to my allotment per day, and my attempts at exploiting the relative nature of Time with radioactive rust found under my kitchen sink failed miserably. [Though I cannot deny that I could at least have stolen a couple of minutes if I had succeeded in getting past the second equation in Einstein's theory.]

And yes, I tried other means ... I tried doing everything faster, and I even tried multitasking. I chewed on my bread whilst I changed in the morning; I progressed to the point where I was swallowing whole pieces of bread - chewing is a waste of time, everything dissolves somewhere further down there anyway. I practiced my dance steps when I was brushing my teeth. And no, i didn't get no more time. What I succeeded in doing was to give myself endless jitters from the panic that floods through my system everytime I force myself to do more things in less time. I became a really edgy grouch.

I even bartered with Time. I gave up my sleep, in return for more Time on my hands. It worked, for a while at least. I was doing a lot more things with my life! It seemed too good to be true, until I realised that I was doing everything and doing nothing well. Somehow, being in a semi-permanent vegetative state doesn't render one very capable of doing anything much, other than the most basic of tasks such as breathing and drinking.

I was getting disillusional ... very bitter and sore, and not to mention, extremly exhausted. It then struck me. Maybe the problem isn't with Time ... my fleeting worldly existence is a gift given by Time, and I should count my lucky stars that Time has decided to waste 24 hours a day on someone like me. How can I bargain with Time when this gift has been given to me for free and in Time's grace; when I have nothing that Time even remotely wants to give in return?
Maybe, just maybe, the problem is with what I want to do with the Time I have. Maybe I am not getting the contentment that I have been so feverishly pursuing after, simply because I am doing too many things.

I've been taking on too much stuff ... been haphazardly commiting myself to too many endeavours, maybe?

Shucks. That can only mean one thing.

I am back to my problem with commitment again -_-