Here's the truth. I don't.
Find sounds like something you do to a €10 bill lying in the crosswalk. I abscond with my free time. I misappropriate it, pilfer it. I compromise my personal hygiene. I cancel coffee dates and play dates. I don't return phone calls, allow emails to rot in my inbox for months, sometimes. This post materialized with a sick toddler lying on top of me and a bucket handy, in between bouts of barfing (see Exhibit A), as the very beginning of the same bug rumbled around in my own stomach. I click away on my keyboard long after the kids have gone to bed, with bleary eyes and barely enough energy to hit the spacebar, let alone Skype, or do extraneous things like be nice.
My situation isn't unique; most people with a certain level of stubbornness, an insatiable hunger for perfection, and an interest-driven fixation get it. The rest of you, let me in on your secret to equilibrium because at this rate, I'm going to end up in a remotely located cabin with nothing but a hole in the floor and an internet connection. In my head, this isn't an entirely bad thing, which is EXACTLY THE PROBLEM. Time management experts, advise away. Until then, you can find me prioritizing blogging over everything, and then tearfully begging you for a pardon for not getting back to you and smelling like a dumpster.