Stop trying to save time. Start being zealous for your space.
Control that which is under you. Control that which is yours. Once that is done, you will have plenty of time. Maybe not an abundance, nothing left over to “waste” or “spend” at the end of the day. Just the right amount to overflow your cup into sweet, dark sleep.
If you’re still looking at Twitter before bed, then you’re not controlling your space. Your space is being controlled. By the machine. By the man behind the screen. With your space uncontrolled, your time is sacrificed to that which does not satisfy, the waters which turn to ash in the mouth.
So seize that seemingly, singly fathomless thing called “existence” by the nearest tabletop and make some space your own. Don't let it go for anyone. Declare it the providence and lot of Jesus whom you adore and serve.
You don’t need moon boots.
But they’re not forbidden either.
Till angel cry and trumpet sound,
The Mad Christian.