I’ve always wanted a room in which time doesn’t move. It just freezes the very moment you enter to the moment you leave. I could take anything to this room even a laptop with the internet. Obviously, this doesn’t exist but it would be amazing and oh things you could do. You could learn everything you ever dreamed of. I recall this as I briefly crammed in some stretching this morning and looked around the living room. I see lots of unfinished things, stuff that shouts to me “Oi Martin what about me, when you going to sort me out. There’s a Xbox voucher for 3 months access, that’s been sat there for months, there’s a mindful gift I got for my birthday off my beautiful daughter in July than needs a daily commitment which I’ve given about three continuous days
There’s a novel writing book, the drawing pins box from yesterday, a lean in 15 book, which has never had a recipe made from it. The Guardian paper that I bought yesterday as part of the 99 tasks and for the free virtual reality headset, the baskets in the living room are another thing entirely. They are crammed with hidden things out of sight but I know they are watching. Ok if I only had my special room that I could drag all these things into them and come out seconds later with every open loop closed and that’s just the living room. Every room I enter the voices call to me. “Pick me Martin pick me” but all the voices are the same level there isn’t one that shouts with authority ” I am the one to do next, you know that” occasionally the voices annoy I find a window to do some ‘organisation’. I choose at random what gets my attention, I choose over whelming tasks I open the basket and piles things out. There is no time room to take them to. They get spread out across the floor, these items of curiosity. I get distracted. I make vague inroads and time is sucked from me. The place is a mess. I collate all my piles of wonders together, they go back in the basket the lids shuts better than it before ever so slightly. That’s a success right?, I con myself .
Even now as I write this on the train, I’d decided I wouldn’t write the book this morning but I would read a novel. I don’t read enough, I berate myself , but I am now doing something else instead.
I’m silently screaming in my head. I wonder if I didn’t take on a single new thing how long it would take to put all the curiosities and things I started, to bed. Life doesn’t work like that does it. Can you press the pause button and crack on with other things? and if you can which one do you do when there is so many. As I metophocially drag the list of unfinished things to the room where time stops.