Ticking of the Clock

TIME. It’s as slippery as a wriggling fish and as elusive as trying to grasp water.

I have never been able to rein in my time in spite of trying for so many years. Hubby used to suggest a schedule. Clothes washing on Monday, ironing (no, I don’t!) on Tuesday, Cleaning on Wednesday, etc. Have the kitchen cleaned by 9 am, tackle the days tasks and finish by noon. Then there’s time to take the kids to the lake! It’s a fine theory, but the very thought of a schedule makes me shudder. It feels confining, like a strait jacket. Ugh! My husband finally conceded defeat. I heard him tell someone recently, “She just doesn’t have it in her!”

I accept the ticking of the clock. I don’t fight it or try to harness it. I’ve tried and it becomes a bucking stallion, completely out of control. I do the things when I can. I write when I can, in between and squeezed and on top of. Hubby is telling me the hectic schedule for the weekend as I write this. I smile and nod. A friend just messaged me about meeting for lunch. Yes, I will! There will be time for that too! Time is rigid in its relentless march onward, but time is also fluid. I can allow it to wash into the crevices of life. I can flow with the ripples and currents. As I am carried along on the River of Time, I can write lists, I can write thoughts, I can write stories without a strait jacket.

I wiggle my shoulders, take a deep satisfying breath and put pen to paper again.