Time is a weird thing. Either there is too much of it when you are watching the clock and waiting for something: work to be over, Christmas to come, vacation to start.

Then there is the reverse, it vanishes when you are excited and having fun: on vacation, with friends, with someone special, reading a great book.

I’m having one of those in-between things – and proving that time is either relative or sadistic. Not sure which one is more accurate. You get 48 hours to a weekend. You have about 20 hours of stuff to do. No problem, right? Until the thing that you thought would take you 15 minutes tops takes you two hours. Then you realize the item you KNEW was in the pantry – isn’t. And dinner kinda requires it. And oh yeah, your friend want to see you (can really at this point I need socialization) but that means an hour drive there and back, plus time to get dressed and put on make up (squee make up) and then go. Well… your 48 hours has dwindled to less than 20, and we aren’t even counting sleep or stuff like that.

Ugh. I still have so much to do this weekend, and I want to write this HUGE scene that is the next part of the book. But I still need to finish planning the menu, get my laundry done, schedule social media, write at least 2 shorts, edit two chapters, and take a training course. And I’d really like to curl up and read a book for fun.

Anyone have a time turner I can rent? I just need another year, maybe two.