I am giving away my time. After all, the world has already determined that it is worth nothing.
I'm not talking about "free time," which I covet with a white-hot intensity---the phrase is a bit of a misnomer, anyway.
(Creeping out of bed while the sheets are still warm to eek out an hour of alone time? I pay for that. Specifically, in Mary Kay under-eye concealer).
I'm talking about the daily pockets of time which are presently snatched from me. I've decided I would rather give it away than let people take it from me.
Each morning, I buckle in my children. Although they have just eaten a kingly breakfast of yogurt, waffles, fruit, and milk, the Pavlovian response to the seat belt click triggers the cries of "Snack, please, snack please, snack please."
It's less charming than one would think. Particularly since the younger one, the one prone to yelling, "I wanna HIT THAT!" prefers to simply yelp, "NACK! NACK! NACK!"
I don't give them snacks and/or nacks. The two year old weeps. I drive down my one-way dirt road to get the spawn where they need to go. I am thwarted.
My neighbor's truck, roughly the size of a small tank, blocks the only exit off my street. He is talking to another neighbor, probably about the rouge emu recently shot and trussed by a tobacco farmer up north.
I sigh, and tap my horn once. Oldest stops asking about snacks long enough to whine, "We're going to be late. Just drive over the guy."
My neighbor nods and waves, acknowledging my horn, then takes another drag off his cigarette. I wish I had a rifle to shoot in the air. To better speak his language.
With a turn of the key and an ear-piercing blast of Pantera, my neighbor finally clears a path. Fifteen minutes, stolen.
A further inventory reveals:
*I lose at least thirty minutes daily searching for microscopic yet crucial Lego pieces.
*When my pediatric dentist tells me that I need to floss my two year old's teeth, I take small pleasure when he bites her moments later. But it doesn't take back the twenty minutes in the waiting room.
*There's nothing I enjoy more than breaking my day into three categories: the moments I place Youngest on the potty so he can cry, the moments he soils the floor with his waste, and the moments I scrub at said waste with Oxy Clean.
* Lest I forget, I spent almost four hours camping out in the lobby of the preschool to secure Youngest's spot. I arrived, blurred eyed and surly, at 6:00 AM. I was sixth on the list. The earliest person had signed in at 5:25 AM. (As I write this the next day, there are still four spots open).
I suppose, if I want to regain control of my time, I could consider returning to work. At least I would earn a salary. After all, there's always a story there. My friend shared with me that she was discussing Mother Theresa with her sophomores. One of them piped up, "Oh, you mean the one on the syrup bottle!"
So, gentle reader, consider taking my time. It's my gift to you. If you don't take it, surely somebody else will. That, I can guarantee.
Serious seekers only. Don't waste my---oh, who am I kidding?
This is my rant/submission for this week's Red Writing Hood challenge:
Write a humorous listing for eBay or Craig's List. Talk about the history of the items, why they must go.
