Time would expand so that I am able, within the space of just one day, to dazzle my boys with cultural experiences which ignite lifelong passions; and laze on the lounge cuddling with them and stroking their still-soft skin as we take turns reading aloud from our well-thumbed books (we are now reading fluently in French, having mastered Spanish last summer and Arabic this term); and still have time to write in my journal and do two good hours on my new manuscript; and whip up a lasagne from scratch (including freshly made pasta sheets).
At the same time, I would have less need for this time, for the words would run from my pen, revealing perfectly formed sentences which linked one after another, to create, without revision, a lucid and riveting plot.
Can I borrow this day too?
mais oui, it is but fantasy, so there is room for us all
I’m boggling over this, let alone the rest:
(we are now reading fluently in French, having mastered Spanish last summer and Arabic this term)
well, fluently is clearly an exaggeration
I strongly suspect that if I had more time I’d continue to feel I fritter it away, but I’d still want more because it *would* solve all my problems. It would.
Aaaaah.
And we’d get our tax done.
please not to be mentioning tax on account of it is keeping me awake at night