Ready, Aim...

I'm almost entirely convinced that God gets bored every now and then and decides to stir things up. I'm also convinced His topic of choice is watching us--his sub-perfect creations--scramble when we realize how much time we don't have. Not enough time to finish that paperwork, wash the dog, cook dinner, plan a vacation, scrapbook, etc.

I can see His almighty finger casually push the "big hand" of our clocks ahead an hour and then laugh uproarously as our eyes bulge out of our heads. An hour is merely 60 minutes in the limitless grandeur that is eternity, but to us--we who live from hour to hour--it's 60 minutes that will effect the next 60 minutes, that will effect the next 60 minutes, etc. And so goes our day. And almost invariably, part of every 60 minutes includes traveling to the place we will spend our next hour, and when even one hour is taken from us, it can throw everything off because then you are late. Then you are on loan from the present 60 minutes.

And I've found there's only one single place on earth that can reset it--your bed. Once your brain and body disconnect, the only thing that matters is how many hours they can manage to stay that way. Though, it seems some people are able to be awake and still be in this state of disconnection. And those same people are of no help to us as we try to manage our 60-minute blocks of time because they're the ones holding up traffic or gossiping by the water-cooler or putting 17 things at the 10-items-or-less counter or trying to make the earth-shattering decision of whether or not they want whipped cream on their latte.

Ack. Is there no way out?

This post kinda got me by surprise. I was flipping through my mental calendar, realized I've got a lot to do and not much time to do it, and this came out.

For those of you wondering: no, I'm not on any medication (legal or otherwise), and yes, maybe I should be. If it was strong enough, at least then I could imagine myself getting the jerk in the car, the priss by the cooler, the fool at the checkout, and the loser with the latte all within range of my eye-lasers.

Yes, eye-lasers; different medication, different weapons.

And as soon as the present 60-minutes are up.....ZAPPO!

Don't laugh, because the next time you decide to take some of my time because you didn't use enough of your own trying to find--and wait for--the absolute closest parking spot, just know that somewhere, I've locked on and am ready to open fire...in

3...

2...