I thought that the whole point of achieving a certain level of materialism was the quest to "save time." Presumably, time saved on dreaded activities (washing dishes, taking two days to walk to the next town, cleaning the carpet with a lint roller) is time gained to spend on enjoyable activities (reading, watching movies, reflecting). In reality, my time is entirely fixed. It will pass at exactly the same rate no matter what activity I engage in. Time isn't saved, but rather enterprises swapped out in the hope that I've chosen one more likely to cause bliss. Although I've yet to achieve a state of bliss while watching a movie, there is no harm in hoping. Like a game show contestant I ponder my choices and select the door, package or date most suited to my vision of happiness. I'm usually wrong.
"Saving time" can be pathological. Sometimes I'm so incredibly lazy that I've purchased new items just to save the effort of cleaning the old one. This is particularly true of shower liners. A nice hunk of plastic added to our growing pile of landfill flotsam. Hey, it was slimy. Maybe it's just become more difficult to enjoy work as I've gotten older. It might be a better investment of my time to learn to enjoy each moment, no matter what I'm engaged in. After all, the faster my revved up life accelerates to the finish line, the sooner I'll reach "game over." I don't think my saved time tokens are going to get me much credit at the end. Nailing jello, herding cats, saving time--all impossible tasks. The sooner I realize this, the better.