My time is never my own. There’s always laundry to wash, hang up, and fold; floors to vacuum; garbage to dump; dishes to wash; bathrooms to clean; messes to wipe up; shirts to iron; meals to cook. My child is always demanding my attention: Play with me! I’m hungry! Can I watch my show? Pwease one more strawberry candy, pwease, pwease, pwease? I have to pee pee, Mama. Mama, I have to doo doo. On call 24/7. On top of everything, I want to do my work, I have to do my work. My work, my blogging, my writing, my reading. How else can I stay sane? I hear the clock ticking all the time even while I’m sleeping. It makes me antsy, fidgety, jumpy. But I don’t want the clock to stop. Not yet. I still have time. Even if it’s not my own.

Inspired by Intueri.

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