Dear J-
Lately by the time figgy’s settled in bed and I’ve had a chance to breathe a little it’s already time for bed, which makes it tough: there’s still so much to be done, from the home improvement projects that have only moldered on the shelf to studying for the PE (reading the book as a minimum, which is next to impossible in the afternoons when I’m half-dead on my feet; and, more ambitiously, trying to do some of the homework along the way; I’m now five chapters behind with less effort than it looks like it would take).
The question of free time has turned into a sad joke, but the important thing to remember is rather what lies ahead and trying not to delude myself into thinking that tomorrow is soon enough to start. It’s been half a year of tomorrows already, and there’s no apparent end in sight, so I’m ready to just cut the cord and get on with it. Enough. I realize that I’m not so much disgusted by people who are working on it, I’m frightened and envious; there’s so much flab I could cut out of the day instead of counting on things to fall into place.
Time waits for no one; I turn around yesterday to watch figgy pulling up a picture of “It’s a Small World” and intoning, with eerie clarity, “Please wait until your boat has come to a complete stop. If I don’t spend the time now, I’m not going to have more time later, and I owe it to my family and me — in that order — to invest the time now while I can.
Mike
Dear J- 
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