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Woke up with the best intentions this morning, as I always do. I was gonna do some exercise, clean the whole house, make a million pounds, and stumble upon a cure for cancer, all before 8am. But then before I knew it it was 11am and I was boiling the kettle for the umpteenth time and I'd achieved nothing.
It's fine though, because once I've made one more cup of tea I'll be totally ready to crack on and conquer the world. After one final scroll through Instagram.
The other day, as I was eating a not-so-great pizza, I got to thinking about how many more pizzas I would get to eat in my lifetime, assuming I continue to eat them at the current rate and that I live to a ripe old age. I eat about one a month, so if I live another 50 years, that's 600 pizzas. Quite a lot really.
But then I started thinking about how many times I might do other things, like go to the seaside with my mam and dad. And that number was considerably smaller.
It all sounds pretty morbid, and I guess it kind of is, but I find reminders like this incredibly useful for making sure I make the most of my time on Earth with the people I love.
"12 million years. That's how long I've been holding this plank for. I'm totally sure of it, but according to my watch it's only actually been 43 seconds. Damn thing must be faulty."
Those were the thoughts going through my head the other day as my whole body shook and sweat dripped off my forehead onto the rug. When my minute was finally up, I went straight to the kitchen (it was 12.03pm, way past my lunchtime) to heat up last night's leftover pasta for lunch, and although the microwave swears only 3 minutes passed, I'm convinced it was more like a thousand years.
It's a funny thing, time. Doing anything remotely fun? Bam, there it goes. Waiting for an email you've been expecting? Or for your appointment at the doctor? You'd better take a seat because you are in for a loooooooooong ride.