RECENTLY I’ve found myself annoyed by how busy my friends seem. Putting aside the possibility that they are avoiding me, some are so on the go that they barely have time to tell me they do not have time to talk. Every phone call, no matter how short, seems to be interrupted by several others. That is, of course, if I actually get a live person on the other end of the phone.
I consider my life to be somewhat filled and fulfilling. I have a husband and two children, work part time, volunteer, exercise several times a week (well, usually) and socialize regularly. For the record, I do not have a baby sitter, but do have a house cleaner for about four hours every two weeks.
But, and I am almost embarrassed to admit this, I also have time to read novels, catch a movie or play once in a while and have the occasional long lunch with a friend.
In our busy, busy world, however, I sometimes feel as if I am the odd one out.
Although those who are overworked and overwhelmed complain ceaselessly, it is
often with an undertone of boastfulness; the hidden message is that I’m so busy
because I’m so important.
She goes on to talk about people are too leashed to their blackberry/cellphone/Ipod/email lives. The thing is, I'm just as guilty as all of them, and I still have time for movies, novels, lunches, and the one that makes everyone lift their eyebrows and say "You have too much free time" : A blog. I just don't get it when my friends, even the stay at home moms, don't have time to return phone calls...
"This elegant, tough-minded book recounts stories about how doctors and patients interact with one other. In the hands of Jerome Groopman, professor of medicine at Harvard and a staff writer for The New Yorker, these clinical episodes make absorbing reading and are often deeply affecting. "