Time is passing much too quickly. Part of the reason for that feeling is aging. I have the realization that I do not have infinite time to get the things done I want to have accomplished at my life's end. For example . . .
Today, I am going through a stack of academic journals I accumulated during my career. I guess I am fortunate I did not have a long, long career, but rather one abbreviated first by not entering it until I was in my 40s. Second, it was cut short, or perhaps shorter, by disability. I had the disabling conditions from my 20s and perhaps even my teens. But, in my late 50s, my back became so large a problem, I could no longer teach.
So, back to the journals. I think I should discard them. Or perhaps I should donate them to ....whom? I reread some of my own writing. Immediately I began to think, "I should write more ...about social justice, about poverty, women's issues and poverty, government messing with the poor and working-class. Wait, if I do that, I'll need these journals so that I can be sure to have scholarly references in my writing.
Time is passing. I had better get busy... I could read an issue a day. And then, I could write an article a week. I'm in my late 60s. I'd better get a move on. And I could use the journals to do research for the 7 novels I have in my mind to write. I'D BETTER GET A MOVE ON.
Dang, it's almost time to watch "The Big Bang Theory." Then, some "Dr. Who." I should do some farming on Farmville 2.
Shoot, I'll put the journals back on the shelf and start again tomorrow.
