Who know who's reading this anymore anyway, but I have to tell you, I've shorted the time I have for writing about things, about just putting pen (proverbially) to paper here, and writing about sitting in my car and watching the rain of orange and yellow leaves falling around me, about the way this autumn's foliage has been muted, about what that might say about so many other things.
I've had to keep so many quiet little moments to myself, things I usually like to string into handsome paragraphs here, because I haven't made the time.
And what an inaccurate turn of the phrase: I haven't made the time.
It's the clever, somewhat annoying response to the standard excuse "I haven't had the time," the one your parents tell you when you try telling them why your room isn't clean or why your homework isn't finished. "No," the parental admonishment goes, "you haven't made the time."
If only it were that easy.