The confinement taught me that time is precious, so why am I running out of it again? | Adrian Chiles

TThere was a time, not long ago, when we had a lot of time; now there is much to do. The confinements went on forever when we were in them, but they feel shorter as they get closer to the past. I have heard that the blockades are described, often by the type of people who protested because they were unnecessary, as a middle-class luxury. This made me feel even worse for how much I was enjoying the whole experience, while many people’s circumstances made it unbearable.

What was delighting me was the weather. I had time to sit, time to read, time to cook, iron, sleep, exercise, garden, and all the other things that I can never normally fit into. Once I did all those things and added some new hobbies: darts, language learning, etc. Ironically, I was running the risk of running out of time again. But I regained control; I knew I had to because the preciousness of time had become clear to me.

Now, however, despite my best efforts to reinforce, the dam has burst; the demands of my time have overflowed. The water metaphor is apt, no doubt, because flooded is the word we often use to describe our workload when it overwhelms us.

There are so many people to see, jobs to do, places to visit; so much work to prepare, things to write, food to cook. Please don’t think for a minute that I’m doing any of these things right. I am not. I’m only doing worse things.

Every night I go to bed convincing myself, without any evidence, that tomorrow will be the day that I finally do everything I need to do, and do it right. I set my alarm to go off earlier and earlier to give myself a little more, yeah, time. Each morning starts off quite promising with compiling a job listing. The task at the top of the list is enthusiastically attacked and can even be completed. The next tasks will start but not finish, as it seems like the time is running out to continue with the later tasks. At noon, completely new tasks appear on the list; In the middle of the afternoon, several dishes are rotated, broken and replaced; By the end of the afternoon, the dozens of jobs in progress are all unfinished and others not started at all; In the early afternoon, defeat must be acknowledged and the white flag is hoisted on the flagpole. Exhausted, I spend a couple of hours expending what little energy I have left on self-flagellation. Then to bed, in preparation for the brave new dawn the next day.

I’ve been told that one solution is to cut through the mundane things and really prioritize. But the mundane is my only refuge. The last few days have been typical. I am helping my brother with some construction work. He would say “helping” instead of helping. At the same time I have had several pieces to write; hungry mouths to feed; shows to get ready; and other unforeseen things that get filtered through text message and email. I was tasked with demolishing a low wall, but after a couple of blows something distracted me, I put down the hammer and couldn’t find it again. They switched me to cleaning duties, but I lost first one pair of gloves and then another. Returning home to look for more, in my efforts to remove a rain boot, I injured a hamstring. I limped past the ironing board and saw that something had to be done. For the only time all day, grappling with a T-shirt, four handkerchiefs, and several kitchen towels, the prospect of true happiness loomed. But my reverie was interrupted by my brother banging on the window, asking, in industrial language, what the hell was he playing at, which was a fair question. And so the ironing was also left unfinished. It is time for something to change.