Being at home for the last few days (thanks to the spate of public holidays, due to the unusual proximity of Easter and Anzac Day (caused by Easter's lateness (due to its determination as being on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox))), I've observed first hand the slowing and speeding up of time in a domestic setting. On a normal day, I'll jump out of bed at 7.30am, dress by 7.32am, water the front and back gardens by 7.39am, make breakfast and read the paper by 7.55am, and then leave the house for work at 7.58am. And it doesn't feel rushed. But faced with an entire day with a few sparsely spaced activities, things change. Tiny tasks take on enormous magnitude to fill up hours instead of minutes, and indecisiveness festers in the absence of a deadline.
Whereas on a working day you're forced to efficiently plough through your activities before rushing out of the front door, a slow day at home changes your perspective on time. You ponder what level of luxury cup of tea is appropriate, you can't decide whether to water the back garden, or perhaps you should check the weather and see if rain is forecast. But once the computer is on, it's important to check emails, and catch up on the latest tennis news. Oh yes, and while you're there, perhaps watch a few English tv shows on the BBC iPlayer. Soon a couple of hours go by and you still haven't watered that back garden or had breakfast. Checking the pantry and there is no bread left, so instead of making do with cereal or a yoghurt or some fruit, you definitely need a fresh ciabatta. So there goes another 45 minutes.
This must resemble retirement. Whole years go by without anything productive happening !
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