The winter days were going away fast.

The winter days were going away fast. Little he could do about it, very little. If anything, just to certify with a weary sigh of disappointment the speed of time. He was frustrated not to be able to pay proper attention to so many different things that needed badly so. A good many things, all of them important to varying degrees, received nowadays equally meager attention. He longed for the days where he could focus on an activity for hours on end, where he could analyze every detail of an issue, where he could research and judge, and feel at the end of the day that the time spent had been worth the spending. Somehow that situation had vanished. He could not even tell if it happened suddenly or if it was a gradual decline. He could only admit that his constraints were now stronger and that the elapsed time gave those days of unconstrained contemplation an air of privilege that didn't quite seem right. Responses had now to be quick and on the spot. They were quick, only sometimes, but fairly off the spot, on most occasions. And that's how his winter days were ticking away, all along trying to sound sensible and trustable, hoping his superficial commitment to unexpected commitments showering over his head to be deep enough to minimize losses. Everywhere he looked at he could see his was a play that everyone else was also playing. Yet that didn't lift an inch the frustration he felt.