I know it's a hackneyed phrase, but doesn't time fly?
As I get older, whole days, weeks and months just whizz past. For example it seems as though no sooner have I put the Christmas decorations away from one year, than it's time to haul them all down from the loft for the next.
As if all that's not bad enough, time goes even faster when deadlines are looming. I have several self-imposed deadlines all inexorably ticking down at the moment, fuelling a rising sense of panic and claustrophobia.
It's not even as if I'm faffing around (much). I've been reasonably well focused (for me) and have achieved a fair amount in the past few weeks. But no sooner have I ticked one thing off my 'to do' list, than another five mysteriously materialise.
Stuff will either get done or it won't, and if it doesn't then I've no-one to blame but myself. I've actually had a very productive week and in a mood of self-congratulation last night, I set to and created this exciting vista......
A clear workspace may not be very exciting to you perhaps, but to me it opens up a world of tantalising possibilities, most notably the prospect of filling it all up again.
Also it's not something I get to see very often, so it has undoubted rarity value.
So today I will be mostly tackling a mountain of soft-cleaning, one of my most loathed and detested tasks.
More of which anon.