On Time
I find myself wondering from time to time if I am more aware of time passing than the average person, but seeing as I am pretty damn sure I am about as close as one can come to the average, middle-of-America child, I believe I am mistaken in that first thought. But this time thing, I find it so very strange. I wish for it to slow down, allow me to fully enjoy each and every moment, have enough time to both procrastinate and be productive. I am not a productive person, I am too much of a daydreamer to be productive. I do not yet have the self-discipline to not be easily distracted, and something tells me I don't want it, though that might just be me refusing to grow up. Highly likely there. At the same time, though, I find myself wanting to flip to the end of the Book of the Life of Vally and see what happens. I mean, where do I end up? Am I happy? Am I alone, do I have a family? Do I die old, or am I unlucky enough to kick it at 50-something? Career?
But what of the tomato garden, and all those other happy childhood memories? They just fade into stories do they not? I do believe they do. Ah, but so is all of life. And so it goes...
I do believe that we have some control over time, unconsciously, that is. We do not chose in what manner it moves, time for us only moves forward, but the speed. Waiting, strangely enough, causes time to move slower. Go figure, when you want time to speed up, it does the exact opposite, perhaps that is why I have taught myself to enjoy waiting to a small extent. Some waiting, that is, there are many forms of waiting that only cause anxiety, and nothing can condition on to them. It is moments of enjoyment move the quickest. Oh! But those of the purest of pure pure joy seem to almost stop! And then etch themselves so clearly into one's brain that they are of only a thought, uncrossable window, away. There are, too, those moments in which you would like the seconds to slow just a bit, in order to squeeze a little bit more time out of them to spend saying good-bye. Those never slow enough, but they do not seem to move at the normal pace of time.
But what of the tomato garden, and all those other happy childhood memories? They just fade into stories do they not? I do believe they do. Ah, but so is all of life. And so it goes...
I do believe that we have some control over time, unconsciously, that is. We do not chose in what manner it moves, time for us only moves forward, but the speed. Waiting, strangely enough, causes time to move slower. Go figure, when you want time to speed up, it does the exact opposite, perhaps that is why I have taught myself to enjoy waiting to a small extent. Some waiting, that is, there are many forms of waiting that only cause anxiety, and nothing can condition on to them. It is moments of enjoyment move the quickest. Oh! But those of the purest of pure pure joy seem to almost stop! And then etch themselves so clearly into one's brain that they are of only a thought, uncrossable window, away. There are, too, those moments in which you would like the seconds to slow just a bit, in order to squeeze a little bit more time out of them to spend saying good-bye. Those never slow enough, but they do not seem to move at the normal pace of time.