busy

   The every moment that i breathe, that very moment i am busy. Working and thinking of all my irons that are in the fire. of not being like a drudge but a brain teaser though sometimes a body work. My full plate just permits me to concentrate on my work. So i just get no time for a leisury relief. I just hustle over my work every now and then and when one of the tasks accomplishes then comes a sudden abrupt thought of the several pending works.
   Then when a tremor spreads over me that an accomplished errand wasn't actually completed, then comes a feeling of uselessness, a feeling of having wasted the whole block of time and then more of wastage on contemplating on the incomplete job. but for sake the next couple of time i do get into my rhythm. and ten i again crack my brain over the pending agendas.
    And if once for leisure i spend my time of for one of my hobbies then the next very moment i cry over the lost time. then again i waste up over crying but once again i get into my errand. i just feel i need to be helped out but the very next second i feel i shall dig out everything on my own, for its beneficial to me a last.

     So i do feel to curse myself for having set many fishes to fry but for the same i do feel a pinch of pride, for having done such a hip of work. And no more am an abecedarian or an apprentice to all this, so now this busy schedule has become a part of my routine. And following the routine is what life is. So being busy has become a part of my life like the daily bread. so now i do work diligently, hoping that soon all my errands would accomplish and soon i will breathe in a pink of relief.