After the A&E fiasco the other day, where I lost 4 hours of my life, I started to ask myself the question. What would you do if you could have that time back?
This started a very random (even for me!) train of thought. What if you could trade time? What if time was a form of currency to be earnt and traded?
It raises many questions. In some respects time is our most precious commodity but after thinking about this I’m grateful it’s not something that can be traded the possibilities are too dark for me.
What if you could use your time currency to bring people back from the dead for a number of hours? Giving them your hard earned time. Who would you bring back? A family member or loved one? Hitler to ask him why? Someone murdered to answer who’d done it? The ethical issues this raises are so far out there I wouldn’t even know where to start. Even Disney’s genie knew this was a huge no no.
It raises an interesting and very deep, philosophical debate. Something I’ll probably only skim the surface of here. I asked myself the question and had no firm answers. My initial thought was to use it to bring back my first son who I lost through miscarriage. But at nearly 10 years on I wonder if doing so would put me back to square one then I’d end up starting the grieving process all over again.
Does that make me a bad mother? That given the opportunity I wouldn’t choose to spend 4 hours with my lost child? Some would say yes, that’s their opinion and their entitled to it. I feel I’m strong enough now to argue that it doesn’t. That if having that time would make me want to curl up in a ball and scream crying for hours then it’s safe to say that I’m a good mother for not wanting to put my other 3 children through watching and sharing in that emotion and grief which would undoubtedly spill over into their lives no matter how hard I tried to prevent it.
Would I use the time to do something else? The organiser in me brims with thoughts of cleaning, organising and decorating. The Wife in me shouts date night. The mother in me starts categorising crafts and afternoons out that I’ve got stored up for just such an amount of time. It’s not until I proof read that sentence that I realise how many versions of myself I feel I need to be. The cook, cleaner, organiser, decorator, mother, wife, lover, blogger, writer, reviewer………. Like many of you reading, I’m sure you can sympathise and probably trump my list in many cases.
I try to look deep within myself and ask where would I most enjoy spending that time. What would reap the most benefit, on this one occasion just for me. Not the cook, blogger or organiser of chaos but just for the part of me that’s mine………I come up empty, it’s been so long since I’ve sought her out I’m not really sure who she is anymore she’s worn so many masks the face beneath is smeared and unrecognisable.
That’s when I decide it’s time to make a change.
- No more blogging until gone midnight
- No more cleaning at 22.30 at night (lord help the house – it’ll be chaos within 24 hours)
- No more eating crap because your filling the void because your not brave enough to put yourself out there and be who you want to be.
- No more looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering where your 20 year old size 12 self went with her tan, make up and nails.
Sleep is the order of the day. If I had 4 hours back I’d sleep and wake up a new woman, energised, with high powered brain function and the ability to be a better me…….
……..There in lies the problem. Aren’t we all wanting, hoping and wishing to become a better someone? Shouldn’t we just be happy being who we actually are.
After asking myself, long and hard, will I even publish this post and reading and re-reading it and realising how many contradictions there are I’ve decided.
Yes I will hit the publish button, yes I would use the time for sleep but not to wake up a better person just to wake up feeling like me again.
I am going to stop eating the crap and going to bed late but not because I want to be a better me. But because I want to re-discover the old me that’s hiding under all this flab and excessively irate coffee intake.
If you’ve made it through my random post this far well done. There are no prizes, I’m afraid, just the gratitude of one knackered mum.
Thank you for reading and if you gained some inspiration or entertainment from it I’m glad it means spilling my guts on here was worth it after all.