THAT IS NOT A TYPO
I finished a run and made myself a steak.
It was early afternoon, but I felt like having a beer.
I washed down my steak with a beer, and then another one, all while watching The Fight Club in my sweat-encrusted clothing.
I leisurely picked the candy I liked out of bowls lying around my brother’s living room. (He kindly let me crash with him that summer.)
When he got home, we decided we wanted to see the newly released Pirates of the Carribean. So we did.
This was on a weekday, people. A weekday.
Now my weekdays look like this:
- Wake up at way too early
- Get food, self and kids ready for the day
- Drive 40 miles in traffic, stopping at two different daycares before landing at work
- Work, using lunch/pumping time to write sanity-saving posts
- Drive another 40 miles in traffic, with the same two stops on the way back home
- Get first kid fed and into bed
- Get second kid homeworked, fed and into bed
- Wonder where the heck the last fifteen hours went before stumbling through evening chores and crashing
Today I take my leisure in five-minute blocks. When I get it in longer blocks, my brain overloads at all the possibilities. What the heck am I even supposed to do with an hour? Three hours? A whole day?
What I’d like to do now is build a time machine.
I’d use that time machine to go back in time and live that runsteakbeercandyFightClubPirates afternoon all over again, not even for the experiences but for the freedom of it all.
When done, I’d leave a note for my summery law student self to savor the heck out of those entire days of lounging. I’d sign it off:
What’s coming will be beautiful, too, and you’ll get through the stuff that’s not, but for the love of pete! Savor this time. Savor its abundance. Savor not having most moments penciled in. ‘Cause, dude, someday you will spend at least three hours in traffic every single weekday. Three hours. THAT IS NOT A TYPO.