‘Time is the most valuable thing a man can spend’.

I have a particularly weird relationship with time. I religiously launch my day with an incredibly infuriating alarm set strictly at 6.27am, I sheepishly surface to switch off said annoying alarm and without knowing or with years of practice I lay absolute for a further three minutes precisely, I then take the phone and let my bleary eyes and dreamlike mind trawl Facebook then Instagram and further WordPress. At exactly 6.45 I get up to put the kettle on, brew coffee and awake perfectly in the shower.

Already I’ve planned my day, timed my route to work, scheduled my walk home, worked out Ruby’s after school clubs, organised how long dinner may take, what I will cook and exactly how I might cook it. My evening runs much the same, I direct Ruby to brush her teeth and prepare for bed at 20.56, she is unwillingly consigned to bed for 21.00, I kiss her good night and then wash my face, tomorrow’s lunches are already prepared, bags are packed, homework is long finished, clothes are pressed and ironed, dishes are done and wet clothes hang neatly on the clothes horse, dry clothes folded correctly into colourful piles. I prefer this all to be done by approximately 21.15, therefore I have the remainder of the evening to sit down, wind down and dare I say it- relax.

My job is further restricted by time and runs on an appointment basis, I have on average 45 minutes to spend with each client. I don’t wear a watch but my body and brain has perfectly synced the appointment cut off point. I’m tense if I run behind or I’m kept waiting, my concern predominately runs to interruption of my next clients paid time, fair’s fair.

I’m rarely late and enjoy mentally preparing in advance each stage of a journey or taking a minds picture at every stage so I can easily retrace my steps, thus making me ideal for direction and amazing at refining small details of a complicated trip. Any interruptions to any of the above situations and I’m an unruly bitch, I can be very difficult to live with and my strict guideline not only affects others but also myself.

The only outlet or helpful accompaniment to my rueful limitation is abuse of caffeine and alcohol. Frankly to remove the stick from my arse I need mild inebriation, my tense shoulders melt with satisfaction and my upside down smile turns the right way round, achieved as easily as two bottles of Pinot Noir clinking in my lidl carrier bag.

The past month I’ve held tighter time restrictions, I have laboured my weekly 30 hours plus at the salon and kept my strict home routine but I’ve penciled in three trips to London also, all within three weeks, traveling through the night to save occupied hours and perfectly timing arrivals to suit work schedules and more.

The opportunities I’ve been granted has made me think a lot about time and how we use it, judge it and ultimately how we abuse it. I’m slowly learning that allowing time to become my enemy or more so my opponent I’m constricting myself immediately from the confinements of a ticking clock. To free my mind and to make allowance for time, to let myself flow with it instead of mercifully treading against it significantly puts me in a position where I can achieve all of my comfortable daily routine plus the opportunity to expand myself, my mind, my creativity and my flexibility, producing the same strict and organised persona with the energy to accomplish a whole workload more.

Ultimately my hang ups would blissfully fade away given the opportunity to shove my hand through the face of every clock available and just squeeze the long thin finger of the seconds hand, freezing time and allowing me and others to fit more in alongside our abundant tasks.

Truthfully with success comes sacrifice and if I don’t have time, then someone else always will, why would I let someone else take my opportunity? Time management is something I’m still progressing with and my teeth still shine with a purple hue of red wine, calming my nerves and breaking down my uncomfortably weird relationship with one of life’s biggest woes- time.

I write this from a delayed train travelling once more from Dundee to London, I’m on my second wine and things are looking ok.
‘He that has time has life’.

Long live the VEF and God Sake the Queen, Big Ben and every other timepiece in existence.


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