"Is there still time?"

Just put on 10,000 Maniacs' "Eden." I woke with it in my head this morning and wonder why. It's one of those sappy tunes I'm a sucker for, mostly for remembering the person I was "then" - when the album came out and I was young enough to race out and grab it. I'm so much not that person anymore... (unless it's a Bowie or the Foo Fighters release.)

"But the clock is another demon that devours our time in Eden, in our paradise."

This is the line that was stuck, more so than any other. It's the one my brain kept circling back to. Is it some sort of subconscious premonition, prompting vigilance or something? Should I be paying attention to not be wasting my time? (Funny - just got interrupted to be asked what I'm doing and had it suggested that I shut this down and get to work. There is, after all, much to be done this day.)

Now, because of the interruption, I'm drawn to redirect and consider, what's considered a waste of time? Who decides? What determines whether an act is futile or worthy of one's efforts? Should I be striving to accommodate someone else's perspective on my choices of how to spend my time?

Of course, the answers there aren't that difficult. At least, not at the personal level. I do this for myself, therefore, it is worthwhile - to me. But I could be doing things worthwhile to both myself and those around me. Sure, it has an effect, I get a tinge of guilt stirring somewhere between the ears, but it's not strong enough to sway me. There are many moments in a day and I refuse that guilt for the couple of minutes I'll keep to myself to do something I enjoy.

Of course, should my "couple of minutes" become the majority of an hour, that guilt will indeed become more than just a tinge, but an overbearing weight that will have moved, by then, to my chest. I have no choice that way - it's been learned and relearned too often... Yep, that means I've a history of wasting time. Or at least, a history of feeling I'm wasting my own time.

So, if time is the nemesis, ...what then? This reminds me of the Alan Lightman book that I plan to pick up another copy of (this...time, as my father's birthday gift this year) that presents quite a variety of life-scenarios in differentiated time-limits. I'm a huge fan of the book and it's become my favorite take-along for outings in which I'm bound to be bored for more than five minutes at a time. Not to mention the different films that have come out lately with interesting twists on the idea of time. (Quickly, "The Butterfly Effect," "The Lake House," and last night I saw an ad for another one called, "Premonition.")

I've changed over to Moby now for a spell. Interestingly enough, the watery, over-dubbed sounds are reminiscent of the whole idea all over again - time, dreamy and wispy, with streams of current that are not consistent, but rushing here, slowing there...devouring ? But now, that guilt is spreading and I'm off before it's real. (Except that's not even true for the linking work I've yet to put together, which you won't be privy to, since I'm not going to document the time consumption it tolls.)