Quite a day.

.
.
I was starting to become depressed.  Without counting, it seemed I was getting nowhere.  I... seemed to be working, it just... my list didn't seem to be getting shorter.  I kept at.  Finally I counted what I had done.  Four or five loads of laundry, all folded or awaiting hangers, save two mattress underquilts which have been murder to get dry, even when I finally did them alone each.  Grrrrrhhhh!

The last one is finishing, the other seems done... will check when I check her sister.  Have to be female, nothing else can be that damned fussy!  Then I finished a couple of loads of dishes and pots.  Three?  I think so.  All of them, really.  Next, grilling meat and some sort of last meal, uhrm, for the day.  I should brine the chicken... can't trust it these days.  An hour, according to my mother.

Yeah, I have been working.  If not too hard, rather fully through time.  Keeping busy.  I can't fault my actions, or even the dratted sisters, merely my flawed notion of time and what can practically be done in time.  I'm a time killer.  So, while I explore this side of things, I am bound to become befuddled by your strange, and truly unnatural, side of events.  Time isn't what it seems.  I don't play sudoku in five seconds because I am fast.  I do that when I remember what time is... a boundary given to man so that he might find God, in all that means, more readily.  Not all live in, or are as completely bound by it, as men.

My story.  Sticking to it.  Later, gator.