Seems I’m in such a damn hurry, and I don’t even know why. I hurry to make money, to make ends meet, to cook something up for V to do. I’m so busy I don’t know to stop and wonder why that is the case.
I guess a lot of things have been going through my mind lately. What I want to do, truly, is quit at the ripe age of 55 and life in a trailer for the rest of my days. Doing the occasional consultancy work, and then read, read, read. Of course it won’t work out that way. Whatever has worked out the way I wanted? Did I ever know what I wanted?
What I want is to lay down and sleep for a few days. Spending the nights sleeping on the floor of the little one’s room is murder to my sleep, I’m awake three-four times every night. But V is thus spared – and we know how she gets when she doesn’t get her sleep, so I’d rather go without my share. Thank God for the government job; I wouldn’t elsewhere find the workplace where I might work so slowly, on account of being so weary.
I want to be rich, but that’s not for someone who has kids the age as do I, and who wants to spend time with them. Rich is working flat-out, no distractions in your life, until you reach the goal. I could do it, but I’d be crapping on my family and that’s not in me, I guess. And why do I wanna be rich, because it would be a secure life where I could get my kids what they need. But can’t I do that already, now? And I wanna be rich because it could afford me time I don’t have right now. But couldn’t I manage that time better, and get more of it? I think I could.
So why not slow down a bit.
I think I might just do that.