There's this thing I do, when I have a chunk of time approaching that's all mine. I plan. I visualize. I anticipate. I line up and prioritize tasks with military like precision with a dash of procrastination. Three free hours are coming, I kept reminding myself last night. Sleep easy. You've got this time coming to tackle it all.
Then G woke up sick. Drew came home temporarily hurt from work. The kitchen faucet that has been leaking for nine years reached its pinnacle of watery destruction. My three hours were no longer mine. I couldn't tackle it all. Not anything.
This thing, that I do every time, strangled by expectation.
Sleep easy, I'll tell myself tonight. Someday, there will be time.
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