The slowness of life.

Seems like whenever I want something good to happen (be it by hope, hard work, smart work, some of the above, none of the above, some combination of the above, etc.), it inevitably takes its sweet time.

That's nice. The problem is, for me time if finite. Every second that passes, I don't get back. Every meal is the next one closer to death, and so on.

Am I turning grumpy in my greying years? No. I think it's just pure impatience.