Barbara J. Hamby

Stop the Clock

More and more these days, I feel as if I’m living in fast forward most of the time. I resent the time I have to spend resting, but know I’m dysfunctional without that refreshment. I drag my body to the pool because it has to have exercise to keep it moving. True, when I get there, I enjoy moving through the water and wallowing in the hot tub to finish each session.

I shop from catalogs whenever possible to save time and limited energy as well as fuel. Whatever happened to the vendors who came to the door with bakery goods, fish, etc.? In some neighborhoods, there are still ice cream trucks or wagons, at least in the summertime. I guess we are so spoiled by humongous supermarkets that we need a greater selection of choices than will fit into a truck.

I drag my heels when turning calendar pages; it’s still September on the wall behind my computer. Now that it’s raining outside and I’m in warmer clothing, I guess I’ll have to bite the bullet and face October.

Flitting from one project to another—some writing, some refurbishing the room in which I write, necessary grocery shopping, laundry, and sorting stuff for endless trips to Goodwill, fills my days. A plastic tub full of discards is sitting in the bedroom awaiting delivery at this moment.

And time passes, seemingly much more quickly than “back in the day.”

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