Back to the books, a 42-year-old's dilemma...

The last time I cracked open a textbook with any real intent, I was finishing my MBA. Nearly fifteen years ago. A different time. Fewer distractions.

Sure, I read plenty. I pick at copywriting the way you pick at a cheese platter... a little here, a little there, never quite a meal.

But real study? Sit-down, nose-to-the-grindstone, brain-aching study? That machinery's rusty. The nuts and bolts need oiling.

And here's the joke life's been saving up for me. Back in my MBA days, I'd sit next to classmates who'd apologise... "Assignment's late, kids were up all night, sorry, sorry."

I'd nod along, sympathetic, not really getting it. Annoyed. Very annoyed. 😠

I get it now. Turns out life waited fifteen years just to hand me the same problem with my name on it. Same chaos, a different time. And I've no one to whinge to! 😵

So I've been making a schedule... Whether it will stick, we'll find out.

(Planning is a great procrastination tool too!)

Here's the plan. Up at 5am, an hour of study before the kids awake. Into class, paying attention like my life depends on it... well, my future does. Lectures wrap at 2:30, and instead of bolting for the door, I head straight to the library. One more hour.

That's two hours/day, Monday to Thursday. And an hour on Friday.

NINE HOURS.

Weekends untouched. Free. Clear. Mine. It feels borderline criminal that I get to keep my weekends.

This is week one. An experiment. I've got the schedule. Whether it survives contact with actual life is a different question... Ask me again in a month.

But there's something good about having a study agenda sitting on the plate again. Some proper exercise for the brain, creaky as it is. Better late than never, and better rusty than idle.