There are so many things I’ve been meaning to write about — topics, experiences, events, memories — but I can never seem to get to them.
It’s sort of like I’m walking along and see something interesting along the way. But I’m already carrying quite a few things, so I place it by the side of the path with the intention to come right back and pick it up again. But it turns out that the path is really a moving walkway like in the airport, and I can never get turned around to go back to that interesting thing.
(Hmmm, sort of has the makings of an anxiety dream!)
At any rate, it’s not the perfect analogy. The feeling I’m trying to convey is the sense of time marching on…and on…and on… And somehow I can never go back and complete all the little projects that I intended or promised or started to do.
It’s rather sobering when I think about it.