If I Blink Any Slower My Eyes Start to Dry Out

My days pass in a blink. I don't know why this is, so I bought a book about it. The book's called Why Time Flies: A Mostly Scientific Investigation and written by Alan Burdick. I haven't had time to read it yet. My bookshelves are sagging with books I haven't had time to read—yet. I don't know where the time goes. Each morning I roll out of bed slightly too late, something or another happens, then it's time for bed again. The details of this something or another happening in between my periods of rest are hazy at best. I can recall the various points of interest from any given day, if you were to ask me, but the memories themselves are (mostly) most like an itemized list of abstract facts. They lack a sense of actuality I imagine they should have. I don't know what causes this phenomenon.

I will argue that I am not getting as much done as I would like. Of course, there's an unreasonable amount I would like to get done, and the time available to do these things is necessarily limited by the many hours invested in earning a living, which in turn affords me the luxury to pursue my other interests in no small degree of comfort. An inability to tick off all (or even most) of the items on my wishlist of todos is expected and normal under the circumstances. And yet, I definitely feel I could make more and better use of my time than I have been. I just don't know how. Cutting out social media and other recreational internet usage, along with not following the news in any meaningful fashion, will certainly free up some time, but I don't imagine this will be enough to get me to where I want to be. If only I didn't require sleep, but I do. Right now, in fact.

Good night.