It’s a funny thing, time. One day I’m spending eight hours a day minding someone else’s problems. The next, I’m minding just my own. You could say that I never really did actually mind anything but myself. But the point is, I tried, whether I felt obliged, or bound by an actual or implicit contract. Of course, the more I think about it, the more difficult it becomes to get a grasp of How long? or How long ago? The distance in time between now and then can be put into words, as exact as I’d like, but what good would that do anyone? One day is not the same as every other day. Hilarious.
They say one can’t step into the same river twice. Me? I’ve never even once stepped into a river, even though I tend to go with the flow. Going with the flow: story of my life. Question is, if a river changes course, do the fish notice? What I do know is that I have never had what it takes to turn stirrings in the depths into actual, honest-to-goodness waves on the surface. A lot of people would advise diving in, but I don’t know how to swim. That could be the point.
You know what else is funny? Thinking about the past. Thinking about the future. There’s this funny gap between either memory or prediction and reality. Ah, another slippery unquantifiable. Sometimes the gap seems merely a crack, sometimes it’s just as long as a jump, sometimes this space in between is as wide as the one that got away. Or if you’re stubborn, the one that keeps getting away.
Yeah, stretch out my arms as I might, it’s hopeless.
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