I know I’m lucky. The luckiest of the lucky. I see the sand hitting the bottom of the hour glass each day. However, right now, my luck and sense of time feel like a heavy weight crushing me. The frustration I have with my life is wanting to do more with it. Work isn’t going well, as I wrote about in my previous post. And that’s a big part of my mental woes. But it’s more than that.

I have this gift of time and I’m not sure how to make it count, to maximize each minute.

I read an article on happiness and it said that sometimes the pressure of feeling like you have to be happy causes unhappiness. I’m not unhappy. I’m frustrated. Most with CF don’t get what I have. So, perhaps, like happiness, the pressure to make the most of every minute is causing me to be irritated with the time I have and the feeling I’m not doing enough with it.

And then there is trump. Wow. Life makes less sense now than it ever has.