Wasting Time

I took off for my playwriting rehearsal this afternoon, looking forward to centering myself a little around writing and theatre. I reached the theatre ahead of time, pulled out a book to read until everyone else arrived, and waited. 

No one came. I'm still not sure when the rehearsal was supposed to be (I was told 2 p.m.), but since I live nearly an hour from the theatre (and am now home, after waiting there for over half an hour), I won't be driving back for the staged reading tonight. In fact, with all the driving, I spent about 2 1/2 hours--no, wasted 2 1/2 hours--doing absolutely nothing. 

I cannot express how frustrated I am at this moment--although the impact of it is already beginning to fade--frustrated enough to question my involvement in what is otherwise a fantastic playwriting group. They are one of the best writing groups of any kind I've found over the years, and I'm lucky to be involved with them. Really.

But I hate wasting time. And gas. In those 2 1/2 hours I could have read another most of my best friend Cherilyn's novel. I could have finished Susan Cooper's fifth of five books Silver on the Tree. I could have finished Crystal's painting for her room. 

Then again, not going to the performance tonight has freed up quite a bit of time, too. Sure, I'll miss what is likely to be a fine reading, but perhaps I'll get to all those other things, and more.

See, all it takes is a bit of a perspective shift to end my whining. I'm off to read/edit/paint/etc. Hope you're making the fun use of your time, too!