It's a feeling I know well - it's been a regular visitor to an optimistic day-dreamer like me over the years, egged on by the first full day in months that I've been able to spend at home.

I sit here with a head full of things I want to do, places I want to go, goodies I want to craft or photograph or make or create, things I want to try, to experience.  Simply dreams - dreams not unreachable for the human I am, with all my limitations.

And yet.

Yet life gets in the way.  Our daily grind, our daily bread, the routine and the rushing around to make ends meet, to keep the momentum, to catch up with tasks before the next ones slam into us.  I'm not rolling in the kind of wealth that will fund the dreams and allow me space and time to explore what my soul craves.  I'm not rich in unlimited free hours without the pressure of trying to squeeze out enough numbers to cover the bills looming on the month-end horizon.  I'm stuck in the mundane reality of what we slog through every day, day after day.

Days like today I tire of it all and just want to go do what my head is full of.

Then the realist in my cranium sets in, tells me that one day I will do it all, see it all, experience it all.  Just be patient.

And the pessimistic realist whispers "but will I still be young enough to enjoy it?"...