We all complain that there are not enough hours in the day. Everybody wishes that they could squeeze in a 25th hour every now and then. And it is also true that we all have a preferred time of day. Morning People and Night Owls, there is a sweet spot in the day where you’re firing on all cylinders, feeling most like your true self.

I panic about time. Not the sort of panic that fuels me to be on time for things, but a generalised panic about those sands through the hourglass. Like trying to hold an armful of balloons, it’s a comic struggle. The more rushed I am, the more stupid accidents I have. My hands become mittens (as an aside – do not google “Mitten Hands”, it’s disturbing), I start needing shin and elbow pads. I have a tendency to rush out the door holding all of the items that should be in my handbag separately.

But there is nothing as ridiculous as the 5am panic. So counter-productive. I set my alarm to wake me while it’s still dark, I want to mould time in my favour. Pat, pat, pat with the clay….a few more hours here…pat, pat, pat, shave a little time off here…

But to find myself still squinting, sitting in front of a computer with my nose twitching like a little rodent, panicking about What am I going to start? What am I gonna do? What should I write? What should I do? is actually a little insane.

So the 5am Panic has passed. I have written a blog entry, exorcised a little time-guilt, slapped that 5am hyperventilating panic sharply on the cheek.

Time to be late for work.