The first thing I see each morning is the little red numbers on my digital alarm clock. They wait, poised like the cocked hammer of a starter's pistol.

Usually I turn it off and get up before the buzz. More sleep would be nice, but honestly, I don't have the time.

Who does, anymore?

Life is what happens after you're shot out of a cannon. I feel like a human cannonball every day.

School lunches need to be packed; e-mail needs to be answered. The dog needs a walk. The manuscript needs editing. Is that the goldfish tapping on the aquarium glass?

At the tone, the time is 6 p.m. Where has the day gone?

No one imagines the grandeur of life and says: I want to be so busy all the time that I collapse at the end of every day.

But that's the curse of the modern world. It's the reason middle-aged men like me have high blood pressure.

We do more. We want more. We worry about wanting to do more, but we do more anyway. If I'm not late for an important date, I should be soon.

Everyone is eager to have more, achieve something the other guy hasn't, drag their children from one athletic field to another, pausing for music lessons and homework as needed.

We're all going full tilt. Can you hear the voices in the gallery? I do.

The lawn whispers "I have crab grass." The shower stall protests "Clean the soap scum, you bum." And never you mind what the car says about the road grime. Such a whiner.

Keeping it all running smoothly takes diligence. I once met a family where everyone was given a typed schedule each week so they could stay busy together.

I guess if you can't manage your time, you become a slave to panic.

When people ask me how it's going, I usually say "Like a bowling ball going down Wilhelmina Rise."

This isn't a problem you can solve. It's just the way life is. Somehow, you cope, albeit breathlessly.

In my home, Mrs. G. is the master organizer. Things run on time, mostly, but we've become so busy trying to be organized that our meaningful conversations are now measured in cell-phone minutes.

I had to be her, once, when she was on a Mainland trip. I managed, but no way do I want that job full time.

The laundry alone is enough to make a man weep.

You know, I used to love Fridays. Best afternoon of the week. I'd be giddy because the weekend was here.

Know what I think now on Fridays? Monday is only three days away.

Reach Mike Gordon at mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com.