This is weird: the other day I decided that “not having time” was not a thing.

For the longest time, I just accepted that I worked full time and had a long commute and had to go to bed early and therefore had no time to do anything else. I was accepting a faulty premise and creating a terrible scenario where I spend all my time thinking about how I don’t have time to do the things I like to do.

Surprisingly, an hour is actually a pretty long period of time. Somehow, a day used to afford me just enough time to: wake up, go to work, come home, and go to sleep. Just today I woke up, got breakfast, worked, got dinner, got a coffee, worked a bit on my secret project, mowed the lawn, did more secret work, read some internet, and listened to some new music.

What the hell was I doing with my time before? I haven’t been this angry about wasted time since I last took a school trip to Nauvoo.