Time's a Wastin' is a Johnny Cash & June Carter song title. "Time's a Wastin'" is also a somewhat dated, yet common, expression. Life is precious, life is short, blah, blah, blah, and we should be ashamed to waste so many good hours. This is not to say that every waking minute should be spent working, repairing, thinking great thoughts, and creating great works of art for posterity. There is a lot to be said for kicking back and living in the moment. (a cliche yet so very difficult to do) What is so wrong with living the life you desire as long as it doesn't hurt anyone, and your lifestyle is within the bounds of personal responsibility?
Allison Ballantine says:
As hard as I'm trying today to write this post, I am also taking care of two children. I wish I had a bubble full of silence I could stick over my head. I picture wearing an old diving helmet. I finally have the 7-month old asleep, but the 4-year old is happy and singing away with gusto. It's bad karma to tell someone they can't sing with gusto, so I won't. Being a silly person, I also have three parakeets who are belting out their own musica ficta. (in early contrapuntal music, it was the introduction by a performer of sharps, flats, or other accidentals to avoid unacceptable intervals) Parakeets just hate unacceptable intervals. The train rumbles and honks its way through the neighborhood at irregular intervals (the only acceptable kind).
The baby will be waking up any time now so I'd better quit thinking about beaches and beer, and more about hamster wheels.
Allison Ballantine says:
I have a terrible desire to find myself hanging out on a white sand beach in the Caribbean, drinking Coronas and staring into the soft waves as they break on the shore. Nothing practical would be accomplished by this change of my life's course. It would represent the attainment of pure relaxation and personal pleasure. There would be a tiki hut and umbrellas made of palm fronds, and a luscious breeze and fresh, ripe fruit. As soon as I learn to like the taste of beer, I'm buying that plane ticket.We become so accustomed to life on the hamster wheel of achievement and approval that we just forget. We scamper on and on, chasing the ephemeral promises of “someday…” or “if only I…”
As hard as I'm trying today to write this post, I am also taking care of two children. I wish I had a bubble full of silence I could stick over my head. I picture wearing an old diving helmet. I finally have the 7-month old asleep, but the 4-year old is happy and singing away with gusto. It's bad karma to tell someone they can't sing with gusto, so I won't. Being a silly person, I also have three parakeets who are belting out their own musica ficta. (in early contrapuntal music, it was the introduction by a performer of sharps, flats, or other accidentals to avoid unacceptable intervals) Parakeets just hate unacceptable intervals. The train rumbles and honks its way through the neighborhood at irregular intervals (the only acceptable kind).
The baby will be waking up any time now so I'd better quit thinking about beaches and beer, and more about hamster wheels.
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