I don’t know about you, but I find that the hours in a day are gone before I’ve accomplished all that I had intended to do. Is it because I get sidetracked, flitting from activity to activity? Is it because I don’t plan well? Is it part of the aging process?

My father used to talk about being on the “slippery slope” when he was up in years. I’d assumed he was referring to how slowly the years pass when we’re young versus how fast they speed by once we’re old enough to talk about the good-old-days.

Sand in the hourglass seems to drop more quickly after a certain age. As a child, waiting for Santa to arrive on Christmas Eve seemed like an eternity. We’d count the days, then the hours, until the magical morning dawned. Now I blink, it seems, and a month is gone.

Three afternoons a week, I take Maggie, my springer spaniel puppy, to doggie daycare for four hours of socialization and play. Of course, I’ve mentally scripted a list of things to do without an overly energetic puppy interfering with incessant demands. It would be my time to write, work on marketing, blog, open the mail, pay bills, shop for groceries, swim, read, fold the laundry, put the toys away, use the dustbuster to pick up the bits of leaves and sticks that Maggie managed to bring into the house. You get the picture.

I blink, and my four hours are gone. I’ve slid down the slippery slope, wondering how time could fly so swiftly.

I’m not alone, I know. I hear my friends complaining about the same thing. There are just not enough hours in the day. Maybe there comes a time in our hectic lives to step back awhile. Enjoy each moment, rather than filling each moment. I’ll think about that. In the meantime, I have to go pick up Maggie.