We always need more time.

I often look at my own life and see how I steal so much from myself. Co-opt. Like I’m in my own recession.

Time, love, reality.

I keep making excuses for making excuses, because I’m sick of justifying everything to myself. Because one day I’m going to be accountable for it. And there will be no room for excuses.

So I’ve started to hold myself accountable. The problem is. I pick and choose. When I can handle it, I’ll ask for it. When I can’t, when it’s the people God has made me close to, the people who really, truly know me…I don’t want to hear it.

I cut them off halfway. Yes. No. I know that. I know. I do. I just need more time.

I’m figuring it out…honestly.

The small things change on a regular basis, habits I pick up and drop off, ideas I think are ingenious and then think are ridiculous. People who inspire and then disappoint.

But it’s the long term issues which only shift focus and yet remain a part of who I am, and why I can’t grow.

These things, it is obvious, I have had enough time to change.

But instead I make excuses, I justify and justify and justify.

They say I’m too hard on myself.

Not hard enough. I guess when I stole my own reality, nobody saw me. Ripped off the barcode. Slipped through the scanner.

Tonight I’ll stay up because I promised 9am. And I have to be consistent when people are looking.

As though God isn’t the rest of the time.

And so now it’s gotten to the point when I hold my own knife and I feel it’s cold, harsh point against my own lips.

Do something. Change something.

Be someone.

Just not this.

And yet I’m happy. Aren’t I? I should be? Or not?

My diary is full of random descriptions of characters who I aspire to.

I would rather be in the other place right now, in a room so I can focus.
But I’m waiting to see if someone turns up. Because their presence inspires and humbles me.

It’s gotten to the point where I need people more than I need me.

Time. So fast. So futile.

Who did you become then? Who?

I just have to finish this first. Just have to get this done. Sort it out. It’s important you see.

Has to be by 9am. Need to maintain that level of consistency.

Think back. Tomorrow. Last week.

The child and I watch each other as the sermon begins. His tears are drying and I wipe his mouth again.

His eyes remind me of someone else so I have to look away.

He leans back. His small hand grasping my foot. I close my eyes and visualise my eternal journey.

God has a deadline for you. You just don’t know when it is.