For a thing that human beings invented, time sure seems to have a life of its own. One day we're rushing to get it all done, the next day the bottom falls out. Urgency dissipates, and things that once seemed critically important aren't even on our lists anymore.
I'm a naturally anxious person for whom time has always been troublesome. For most of life, I've been in an irrational hurry, eager to finish one thing so I can move on to the next. Out on a hike? Get me back so I can sweep the porch. Reading a book? Wrap it up so I can start the next one. Out to dinner? No dessert, it takes too long.
As I read what I just wrote, I know it sounds kind of sick. But it's hard to fight. Anxiety for me is hard-wired, beyond any sense of control.