Time On My Hands

I don't know if it's a blessing or a curse (not that I ever use such religiously-inspired language, but it's a very convenient shorthand), but I have more ideas than time to write them. Or is it that I have more thoughts than motivation?

When I do the math it seems easy to explain; There are 168 hours in a week, seemingly plenty of time to work, sleep, commute, watch a Cubs game or two, shit, shower, and shave and so on.

I've been working a lot lately. I mean way too much.

The last couple of weeks I've been scheduled 50 hours, which usually turns into 55. 168-55=113.

There's my 10 hours of commuting every week, which leaves me at 103.

Ideally I would be sleeping 8 hours a day (whoever came up with that number is a cruel bastard because I don't know anyone who gets that much sleep). But that's just not gonna happen. We'll call it 50 hours of sleep, or, at least, 50 hours in bed trying to sleep. That takes almost half of the "free" time I have left and leaves me with 53 hours.

In an average day I spend a little over half-an-hour "grooming," that is brushing my teeth, showering, shaving, changing, and whatever else people do in the privacy of their own (and the occasional public) bathroom. We'll call it 4 hours, leaving me with 49.

I probably spend about an hour a day eating (3 meals @ 20 minutes each, plus snacks). I'm down to 42 hours.

Three Cubs games a week eat up another 9 hours knocking me down to 33.

I need a good hour a day to decompress; from work, from my commute, from the world at large, or I will go completely, utterly, bat-shit crazy.

26 hours.

Finley gets taken to the park every day. I don' take him as often as I used to, but I could fairly say I spend 6 hours a week with the dog.

20 hours.

Then, of course, there's time for family and friends. No less than an hour a day between talking to my brothers and mom, hanging with my wife and, of course, Jack and baby Riley, who deserves no less than my full attention. 13 hours left.

There's always something to get for the house: groceries, toiletries, cleaning supplies, all requiring a trip to Target or Walgreens or Whole Foods, which means another 5 hours a week.

That leaves me 8 hours a week, or a little over an hour a day, to write. Unless something comes up. And there's always the random stuff: laundry, haircuts, taking out the garbage, consoling a friend who was just dumped...and so on.

There are times when I'm "multi-tasking." I read a lot while I'm commuting (or "grooming") and I watch the news or sports or whatever while I'm eating. But generally I try to stay focused on the task at hand...not easy to do when all these ideas are rolling around in my cranium, trying to find purchase on a piece of paper (or computer monitor) which I usually don't have at hand.


What it boils down to is this - I have no time to write, the universe, at least for right now, is conspiring against me. (Actually, the universe is indifferent, but whatever). So I have to make time, or, more accurately, find time in this crazy schedule to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

It's either that, or move to Venus (where a week is 40,824 earth hours long - really.)