Who knows where the time goes
Sandy Denny speculated on the subject before she fell doon the stairs. I've not had any falls, but still miss large chunks of time that can't be explained by drunkenness or fugue states.
The now entrenched false consciousness allows me to spend an average 50 hrs/wk at work, leading to a compensatory need at weekends to excommunicate the phones and doze for 18 hrs in between listening to Radio 4 and reading snatches of Chat! magazine. In any remaining time I'll tend to feel bad (distractedly) about my failings as a friend, sister, daughter, mother, cook and human being, mark M.Sc. exams, ruminate on my upcoming interview in Cambridge, and try to arrange the bathroom re-fitting before it plummets into the Downstair Neighbour's through water damage and neglect. That last could constitute a substantiable complaint, even in my perception.
Luckily the world keeps turning regardless. The Big Wan's achieved 2 Bs and a high C in his Higher prelims (so far), the wee wan writes exemplary English book reviews and history homework and Her Catness is surviving Reekie and plumber intrusions with aplomb. The snowdrops came up early in Feb, crocuses now cover the Meadows and the robins are holding their own against the magpies at the arboreal dojo at work. Amazon has delivered a text on 'Change Management' for me to plagiarise for my upcoming jobbie interview, when I shall embroider actualities to tell a good story and wear a nicotine patch to prevent unscheduled boltings for fag sooks.