Too much to do; not enough time to do it in. Today; whatever I get done, it will not be sufficient. Tomorrow, too soon, will be here, and bone’s tiredness is at war with mind’s racing to get to some end before it is too late. Myriad strands of thought creep into my day’s working, pulling me to other tasks before this is done. Trying to fend off idle and counter-productive thinking, my eyes scan what I do, wishing, always wishing, it would go faster, that time would slow, that I could hurry more.
Too much to do; too little time. Pressured.