It seemed that nothing was ever completed or done, rushing from one thing to the next like distracted children unable to focus on any one thing. Life was just a series of interruptions, "Can I help you"s and buzzing alarm clocks never content to just let a person be. There was always somewhere to go, something to do, a frantic scattering of the collective attention span. She had heard there was not enough time in the day, and now she believed it. Things were always just getting started and now she knew why more often the phrase "We got a good start" was said rather than "We got a good end". Time had become like diamonds, but this luxury was afforded to those who had nothing else, nothing but time. Those who needed didn't have, and those who didn't need, had. The story of the world.
An uninterrupted life was an impossibility, anyway. There was always some obligation nibbling at her elbow, whispering in her ear. She always had something she had to do, whether it was bodily functions, which no one could do anything about anyway, or some inane promise she had made without thinking, perhaps because she always did it, so why was there no doubt she would do it this time?
So she found her calendar filled with meaningless have-to's, interrupting her want-to's. And what was there to do? Tolerate it. Tolerate them.
She didn't want to.
She had to.