How does time fly? I thought I had plenty of time, that I'd just be sitting here trying to figure out what I should do for hours and hours waiting for my driving buddy to show up. But then, I am finding myself scrambling for time to write a short short short story, which is turning out to be a journal entry.
Or an essay, hopefully, about time's obdurate rhythm that ignores my pleas and threats, which are based entirely on subjective desires, whereas time serves all, alive or not, at least not me.
The sun is yawning, like me when I resist sleeping. It is finding the horizon, covered here by the downtown buildings, rather attractive, like an overtired medical resident finds a bed after 36 hours of being kept awake by duties. But as it counts the seconds towards its daily burial on the horizon, I am rushing to slow down time by squeezing in more things to do. I wonder if I have forgotten something. I am here, in my apartment, with the sun's slanted rays illuminating the golden wood floor of my living room. Have I forgotten something? What I won't forget is to worry later, in the car, on our six-hour journey, that I might have forgotten something. Turning off the heat. Turning off the stove. Or, as the case almost had become, bringing my passport.
That would have been disastrous.
We have to do a better job at, what we all know, unfortunately, as, time management.
We some how have to manage time because we can't let it run away so easily. It is, unfortunately, that stubborn stallion that has its plan drawn out from now till eternity. It simply goes on in this amorphous way we try to measure, either with the setting of the sun or the ticking of our inventions like a clock.
But I am going to have to make this story short. It's part of the constantly, forever failed attempt to manage time. The hour has come and I still have to do one more thing. I worry that time is becoming a foreign land for me, the lord of his own space; it is moving away from me and whatever device I have to reign it in eventually reveals itself as a farce on my part. So what I will do.
What I will do. What I will do is to sit and let it go. Let it all go. It doesn't matter. As long as I can let it go, it will be fine. If I can find the patience and courage to just let time go it will, strangely, slow down for me.
So much for time management.
