Yesterday, an hour was stolen from my life. Aliens didn’t abduct me and perform a time warp, nor did I turn a Time-Turner the wrong way. Simply, there was a power outage, and having no flashlight other than my dying cell phone, I was left to sit on my couch and contemplate all the things I could have done, if there was a current zapping through my wires.
I could have read a book, prepped my curriculum, vacuumed the living room (for the third time that day!), organized a closet, done some laundry, write a blog post, and of course possibly save the world from stupid people.
In all honesty, I probably wouldn’t have done anything significant that hour. Maybe surf the net, schmooze with my Rabbi, complain how bored I was, doze in an out (I was lying on the couch lightly napping when the power went out), but really, nothing to claim that hour as my own.
When the choice however was taken from me, without so much a nod in my direction, all of the potential comes to light, and I feel robbed. When I frit away hours doing Jack Schmidt, I may chastise myself later, but it was my choice, and there’s no one to blame but me. However, when something unceremoniously is taken from my grasp, without any concern for my consent, I will cry foul