The holidays are over and I am back to the savage old life of days without time, bereft of the hours that dribble away through fingers in the most pleasant way. Now the clock is a vicious thief running madly with what I want to call My Life. The Time Bandits have it now. It is theirs. As subversive as I try to be, I am not able to steal it back. I tell myself, "I will not. . . " but I do. Thunk-a-thunk-a-thunk. The mechanical life in a Newtonian universe, every unit measured and accounted for. Routine and Commerce and all the untrue ways of accounting for value. My heart breaks with weak rebellion.
A Place of One's Own. A Room with a View. Dragged away from the one story worth telling, everybody's one true story that is always interesting: "How I Got to Be Me." I love that story every time.
Regulated to a figurative death until there is nothing left worth telling. The Protestant Ethic. Normal.
School was called off today due to inclement weather and I felt like I stole one more day from the universe...but will I use it wisely? I think we should all rebel about this time/routine thing!
ReplyDeletebreathe and transport:
ReplyDeletehttp://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTWUYhLBg_A&feature=related
xo
You have a gift that (if it is like most gifts),works in fits and starts.
ReplyDeleteTo paraphrase the famous quotation of Sigmund Freud: "Ich kann die 'Protestant Work Ethic' jedermann auf das beste empfehlen."
ReplyDeleteRhonda,
ReplyDeleteI hope the day was wasted wisely.
Lisa,
I have not breathed all week.
Nikon,
I am not sure if when it is a fit and when a start!
CC,
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