It really is true that time flies. But right now in my life I'm trying not to keep track of years as much as minutes. Here it is after 11:00am. I've already gotten the kids off to school, taken a shower, eaten breakfast, walked the dog, had my two cups of coffee, paid some bills, taken my mom's cat to the vet for shots, gone to Home Depot for some polyurethane, done the dishes and put some meat out to thaw for dinner.
It seems I've had a productive day so far, but if my husband were the kind of guy who cared what I did all day, he would walk in the door and figure I did nothing.
I'm not much of a housekeeper. I have a strict rule that I never clean house alone, after all, I didn't mess it up alone. So when my husband walks in the door after work (much too early at 2:15pm), it won't look like I did anything. Usually by that time I'm either parked in front of the computer taking a break playing a computer game or taking a cat nap (without the cats). So I suppose it looks like that's what I've been doing all day. Also by that time if he were to ask me what I did all day, I would probably draw a blank. It's rare I contemplate what I've done because most of what I've done is busy work and so I fill my brain worrying about the stuff I haven't done or natural disasters (which is a subject all in itself).
So, with the exception of today because I've just recounted my morning in the above paragraphs, I am surprised at the end of the day when dinner is over and I haven't accomplished anything. The time just flew, it's time for homework (another subject for another day), a little TV or reading and bed. Where did my minutes go? Who knows, but in 30 years, I'll be 76.