It's the beginning of the week. And yet it seems that mid-week crisis has already hit. I woke up with a hangover of so many things that are yet to be done. I have never been quite able to figure what do I do with my weekends. I seem forever busy and yet I wake up every morning with that weird feeling that a lot of things are left undone. Deadlines do not freak the hell out of me. I just manipulate my way past them. Here of course 'them ' implies a lot of things/people.
There is always this sense of deja vu,with which I am greeted everyday. The ever increasing pile of reading materials 'to be read' is largely responsible for that. No... I am not complaining. Who said I am complaining? I am just stating the facts of my existence...something which I would like to call life.
I have put away the table clock as far as possible from me. Time has become clever too. It refuses to be confined to my pace. I am arrogant too. I refuse to be bossed around by time, of all people. So I have now my own set of time that works on its own pace. And this where it has landed me in.
The not-so-distant sound of the train jolts me out of my reverie. Even my time pushes me to complete this article... But my mind is already full of so many things to do. So many more to read, some more negotiation with the inevitable time, the deal struck with slumber so that it does not strike when it is imperative to keep my eyes open (everybody knows where I mean).
And I drag myself to start another day, another week of so many left to be done feeling that would eat into me.