Coffee: Sumatra Medium Dark, Trader Joe’s Brand
I’m sitting back in my chair with the keyboard on my lap (it’s wireless). I’ve been sitting like this for fifteen minutes. I’m trying to think about what to write.
Some days get rolled out like dough. A strong-armed woman in the sky slaps you up with a rolling pin. That is, time just kind of passes.
I woke up on time. I skipped breakfast but still read a book in the kitchen and did a little writing on my own novel, my morning ritual. At noon I took a shower and went grocery shopping. Through the afternoon, I alternated reading, dozing, and preparing things for a D&D game. Oh, and I did my taxes. Like I said – not much happened. Now it’s 8:00 and I’m here.
I read this article once that talked about the perception of time: it’s not constant. You’ll have moments that last your whole life and days that are gone before you’re blinking. New Age gurus tell you to be more present. Capitalist mongers tell you to work more. In the end, though, I’m not convinced you can control it – that hidden hand of time.
As I write this, my eyes are going lower. I’m tired. It was a long week. So goes another Saturday – eaten up like a mouse’s cheese. Oh well. There’s always tomorrow.
Novel Count: 23,970
Currently Reading: Killing Commendatore, Haruki Murakami
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Eternity is in love with the productions of time.William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell