You'll be happy to know that as I raced out of the house this morning, I was only lagging behind my estimated time of departure by 10 minutes. Not so shabby...There were some extra things I wanted to squeeze into my morning after all, and I thought I could shave some time off of something else to catch me right up...
Only when I drove up the street to drop off the car before I hoofed it around downtown...It looked mighty deserted for this time of morning.
Which is exactly when I happened to glance down at the clock in the car and noticed that I had run out of Foolsewoode an hour early.
Because I don't know how to tell time?
(also, the clock in the kitchen has stopped owing to the run down batteries, so I thought I was sort of on time...and the clock in the car is set ahead to some amount of minutes...which is a hoot, because I don't remember how fast it is, and I never know what time it is really...)
Which means, technically I gained an hour.
(Or 50 minutes as the case was.)
Which hardly ever happens.
So...I made my way to Cuppers to see Megan and drop off some maternity clothes for her...which also means that I was able to sit down, drink my coffee and read...
Honestly. I almost didn't know what to do with myself with all that extra time...and probably could have stood around flapping my arms the whole time...and although it crossed my mind to do just that my arms are sore from going to yoga last night, so I decided arm flapping was out for the morning.
It's strange, but I'm not sure if I was comfortable with the extra time...and it's making me a bit nervous even writing about it. I kept racking my brain for ways to fill it up with some task...feeling the need to become productive, even though I'm still a little fatigued from the flu a couple of weeks ago...but there is a voice in my head telling me that's not an excuse and I need to press on instead.
The fact of the matter is, before I left the house this morning, I accomplished more than I normally do...which is why I was so surprised that I was actually early. Maybe the universe was giving me time to pause as a reward for something.
But, when did the need to rest become a reward? Why is it that I feel as if I have to earn the right to make time to sit down or play? When did that become the norm instead of making that the focus of the day?
(photo of coffee house in Winslow that was unfortunately closed when I was there visiting)