This weekend I realized I will be 27 next month. Wait, no, I thought. That can’t be right. I just turned 26. What is going on with time? I asked Kamel, “What did we do between then and now?!” And he said, “You want me to make you a list?” Because yes, it’s been so much, but I’ll get to that on another day.
Time. I realize it’s only going to get worse, the herky-jerky back and forth. The odd slowmotion crawl paired with a fast forward speed I can’t anticipate or really explain. You have the 5 year plan and then the 2 year plan, and this year’s plans. This month’s schedule, this week’s timetable, today’s events. January was 1 year in a month, and February didn’t even happen… did it? The year I was 24 time stood still, it dragged, it went on into infinity. And then do I even remember being 25? I thought I would. I don’t think I do.
I don’t look back and think, “Where did it all go? All that time?” Because I was the one spending it, I have receipts. It went to school and friends and stressing over tests, over boys, over family. It went to fights with my favorite people, to making up with them, to fighting again in a constant cycle of being pissed off, then relieved they are still around. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about things, believing in things, worrying about things, planning things, making lists, and disregarding the lists completely. Going for walks. I’ve spent a lot of time walking.
We can count time, it’s measured down to the microsecond and probably even smaller than that, but who can tell? But we can’t measure the moments. For whatever reason the moments are above and beyond time. Time plods along but the moments stretch, or blip, or whiz by. They drag in agony, or trot along like they have all the time in the world. Moments have a beginning a middle and an end, even if the whole thing is just a … microsecond.
I am 26, soon to be 27.
I have been writing about hotels for 2 months, since Jan 2nd.
I have been writing stories since I was in 5th grade and I wrote about a woman who turned 40 and accepted her her lines and grey hairs for what they were: awesome.
I probably wrote before then, but I can’t remember. Time owns those stories.
I have been married for 8 months and 19 days.
It feels like 10 years.
My best friends have been there since I was 16. That actually is 10 years, and about to be 11.
I feel like I’ll always be 21 and simultaneously always be 80 years old.
Kamel told me recently (we talk quite often) that I am one of the most hard working, driven people he knows. I laughed at him and told him I could be working so much harder, doing so many other things if only I wasn’t so scattered or lazy or had more time. Time.
He said that’s what all the really hard working people say.
Our weirdo neighbor has an incredibly loud alarm that goes off at different times in the ungodly parts of the morning. Sometimes it’s terrible screechy jazz, and sometimes it’s even worse talk radio. He presses snooze. On Saturday’s this happens at 7:00 am. When this happens I always wish I had just a little more time.