i've lost a lot of things over the past year. some are superficial - i'm pretty sure most of my dishes in storage are broken. others are painful - hope and trust in people i cared about. but the scariest thing i've lost is my sense of time.
it's not my literal sense of time that's gone missing. i still show up to work on time ...well, actually about fifteen minutes early or so. and i still move through the motions of the day.
it's the in between time i've lost. i've forgotten how to connect my now-self to my past-self. and the future seems like some strange idea that will never be. i imagine bleak worlds and the end of things while i worry about an occasionally slightly sticky gas pedal in stop-and-go traffic on my way home from work.
this isn't right.
time is a funny thing. we define ourselves by it - by how long we do something: work, school, who we see when, what we eat when or with who ...and when we stop. we live eras within eras of ourselves, but we live in the present.
time is more than a sense of self, though. it's a unique identifier. it's a definer of culture as well as character or characteristics of community. it's a system of reconciliation. we link self time to "real time" in order to function in the world and with the people we care about. it's a social construction that isn't.
i haven't been living this era of myself very well. i've been hiding from the world while trying to pretend i'm not. i've been wishing i could curl up under a rock or be anywhere but where i am. and i've been wanting to go out with friends, but at the same time i've been wanting to stay in. (tapas and a glass of wine seem to be my new comfort foods.) i've been afraid, but what really terrifies me, without my sense of time, is the fear that this era of sm will never end.
it's irrational and it's flawed. i know.
time does not work like that.
time is like baking. baking is a science. following the correct steps, in the correct order, using the correct measurements, under the correct conditions, baking just turns out right. it's logical.
throw the directions to the wind, sauté something, and maybe add too much of that spice and not enough of that other one, and you're cooking. half of the time it turns out well, the other half of the time you order dinner in. it could be a science, but most of the time it's not. that's living in self eras.
i will never be a baker; i like seeing the culinary anthropology variables in the kitchen fan breeze. but time, self time and real time, will keep ticking on at 375°f for forty-five minutes no matter what. hopefully we'll all get through our low eras and make it out of the kitchen in time to rejoin the party.
this all makes me think about reincarnation; i'd like to believe in that i think.
more specifically, i'd like to come back as a rock.
even more specifically, something in the sandstone genre.
either that, or something that ends with -ite.