Sometimes I really wish that there were more hours in a day. That way I would have more time to complete a host of important task like napping, snacking, napping, going for rides, napping, eating out, napping, being the center of attention.
When I think of all the wonderful things that I could accomplish with a few more hours, my heart pounds with delight, and I wish that I had the power to add to the clock. But then, after my flight of joy, reality sets in, and my heart crashes to the ground as I realize that if I had the blessing of a few more hours, I would not only have more time to do the chores that I enjoy, but also the chores I despise.
Because a few more hours would not only mean that I would have more time to nap and snack, but also would have more time to do the dishes, wash the clothes, do homework, pull weeds, dust furniture, sort the clothes, fold the laundry, sweep the floor, mop, cut the grass, trim the hedges, and a dozen other tedious chores that I can conveniently excuse for tomorrow.
No, the more I think about it, the more I realize that instead of proving to be a blessing of a few more free hours of fun, more time in my day would only prove a fearful curse of extra work without a free moment to spare.
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