Where Does the Time Go? (or Pause, Rewind, Replay)

I’ve just realized it’s been a week since I posted something. Sometimes I just can’t believe how fast the hours and days go by. And before you ask – no, this is not a self-indulgent, my life is so amazing, I couldn’t find the time posts. Neither is it a turgid, self-pitying diatribe about how horrible things always happen to me.
The honest truth is I don’t know what happened. I had all the best intentions of writing 2K a day and getting done all those stupid little chores we chose to call a civilized life in this century. But I didn’t do any of that.
When I was younger I was a major couch potato. I would watch television from the millisecond I got home from school until I passed out on the couch in the wee hours of the morning. But now I’m far more choosy about what I watch. It’s got to be good and original, well written and performed or it’s just not worth my time. It’s not that I’m a media snob; I just can’t justify more than two hours of TV per day. And I haven’t been watching even that much for the past couple of weeks. My DVR is 92% full. And I have 19.4 days of podcasts downloaded that I want to listen to.
My usual excuse would be video games but, after several hundred hours of wandering around Skyrim, I seriously needed to take a break. Okay that’s a lie. The truth is my controller broke and I’m too lazy to go and get a new one. (650 hours? That can’t be right. Or healthy)
I could have read a book. I have Kindle, a Sony Reader, an iPod Touch and a laptop. They are all full of books I haven’t had time to look at, and samples if a hundred more that caught my attention the past few months. I even took a book out of my local library but didn’t read a single page, even after renewing it twice.
No, the past week is just a blur, lost in the sameness that was the week before and the week before that. If you don’t make a conscious effort to do something new or challenging or just plain exciting, you just dig yourself a little rut and don’t get anywhere. While that can be safe and comfortable, it doesn’t make for interesting stories to tell your grandkids.
Also, I could at least have cleaned this place up. There is a funky smell coming from somewhere.

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Crazed recluse and sociophobe who has taken up writing after failing at everything else. Send pizza.

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