When Did Everything Start Taking So Long?

I opened the closet and immediately questioned my judgment. Not about the closet. About every decision I’ve made since approximately 1990.

I own more black leggings than any one person should. And not one of them is the same. I’ve been very clear about this for years, and no one has pushed back hard enough to make me reconsider.

I decided to clean the closet anyway.

I pulled everything onto the bed, which is always the first mistake. Once it’s on the bed, it becomes a situation. Not a project. A situation. I made a pile for what stays, a pile for what goes, and a third pile with no clear purpose but that felt important at the time. This is the pile that will still be there in November.

Somewhere in the middle of this, I sat down, picked up a pair of leggings I don’t even like, and tried to remember why I’d bought them. I gave it more thought than it deserved. That’s when you know things have shifted. Forget the Marie Kondo book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Never pile everything on your bed. And I have a hard time expressing joy for leggings with four holes.

An hour later, the closet was worse, and I was tired.

This used to take two hours. I have lost ground.

It’s not just the closet. I make a list most mornings. There are at least 25 things on it, but I aim to accomplish three. Maybe four if I’m feeling optimistic. By mid-afternoon, I’ve answered a few emails, moved something from one room to another, and started something I hadn’t planned to. The list is still there, exactly as I wrote it, with three more things added for tomorrow.

Which is confusing, because I’ve been busy all day.

Meanwhile, time keeps moving. You plant flowers, and then it’s winter. There used to be space between things. Now everything feels closer together, like it’s all slightly overlapping.

People say time speeds up as you get older. Maybe. What’s more noticeable is that you don’t move through your day the same way you used to. You stop more. You think more.

The list doesn’t account for any of this. The list was written by someone who believed she would stay on task and make quick decisions. That woman had confidence. I respect her. I don’t know where she went.

I still get things done. Just not as many. There are pauses now. Detours. Long stretches where nothing looks like progress, but I’m tired at the end of them, so something must have happened.

At some point, you adjust. You do one thing. Maybe two. You let the rest sit there without turning it into a character flaw.

I closed the closet and slept in the guest room.

I’ll deal with it tomorrow. It’s not going anywhere.

And apparently, neither are those leggings. All of them. They are completely different from each other, and I will not be taking questions.