What is "busy" made of?

I don't really recall the last month.

Oh, I can trace it back with my calendar, where I've been, with whom, doing what and for how long (I know, my calendar is kinda scary), but still, when I think back the feeling I get is one of emptiness. Days just run on and on, away until it's too late.

Too late for what, you may ask. A good question, since I don't really know it myself either. The world of feelings is not a rational one (nor should it be, but that's another story). But it's as if there's something chasing after me, or maybe I'm the one doing the chasing but the chased is too fast to me and keeps escaping me time after time. There's always a million things to do (or at least several), and none of them can be permanently wiped off from my to-do-list.

The main reason for this month-long amnesia has been juggling two jobs, one full-time at a bookstore and the other one an editing job with quite hard deadlines (and the fact that we're just about managing to hold them - or only a little bit late). So, no wonder if I feel a bit cloud-headed. But it all got me thinking (see, not dead yet!) where does it come from. See, I've managed to do long days before, hours of reading, writing, lectures and homework, and all this without this amnesia-like effect. Sure, I've been tired as hell, cranky and whatnot, but still, in a different way.

It's not about the hours, it's about the nature of the work itself. Not necessarily in the "how much" but more in the "what and when".

I get the feeling that I'm not made for steady 9-17 work. I like change and the ability to work when it suits my mood best - meaning, sometimes I like to get up at 6am and write away until afternoon, sometimes (and for some tasks) I perform best at evenings.

Sometimes mornings just aren't an option. Pure and simple.

And sometimes, just sometimes, it's good to know one can take the afternoon off, even though it means more work for the subsequent days.