Somewhere in this dark place there is a clock. I can hear it ticking slowly, languorously, as if there is all the time in the world.
There is not all the time in the world. The seconds that the clock ticks away are gone and will never be replaced. Even time travel would not solve that particular little conundrum. No matter where in time you may have travelled as the seconds tick, you are that one second older. For whom the clock ticks – it ticks for you.
And there's still so much to do. Time is a cruel master. It stands over you and lashes you to spur you on; then laughs as you fall behind. It races past you like a shiny new sports car, the same car that is once again coming up behind you to knock you down.
It panics you. You know that it is going so fast. You begin to make snap decisions, try to cut corners, anything to make sure you can fit everything in. A project due? What is the minimum standard you have to reach? Revision? What are the easiest ways of learning (those condensed study notes people really knew what they were doing)? Relationships? Shall we just cut the chat and get down to business...?
In the dark place, you take risks. You ask questions that you shouldn't, trying to steal back a few seconds. You work at speed and hope the end product is good enough. At night you lie awake, begrudging sleep every second it steals from you, the pounding of your heart louder than any ticking clock.
Is it the passing of time you fear, or is it something else? Time will pass whatever you do; you have absolutely no control in this regard. If you didn't have to own every second, to bend it to your will and make it subject to you, perhaps it would be different. If you could just, once, permit yourself to relinquish that control, it might be a good thing. Perhaps, as someone told me, the universe would order itself around you for a change. Perhaps Canute should have tried surfing instead of turning back the tide.
For now, it is still dark. And the clock is still ticking. And control... is a whole different story...
There is not all the time in the world. The seconds that the clock ticks away are gone and will never be replaced. Even time travel would not solve that particular little conundrum. No matter where in time you may have travelled as the seconds tick, you are that one second older. For whom the clock ticks – it ticks for you.
And there's still so much to do. Time is a cruel master. It stands over you and lashes you to spur you on; then laughs as you fall behind. It races past you like a shiny new sports car, the same car that is once again coming up behind you to knock you down.
It panics you. You know that it is going so fast. You begin to make snap decisions, try to cut corners, anything to make sure you can fit everything in. A project due? What is the minimum standard you have to reach? Revision? What are the easiest ways of learning (those condensed study notes people really knew what they were doing)? Relationships? Shall we just cut the chat and get down to business...?
In the dark place, you take risks. You ask questions that you shouldn't, trying to steal back a few seconds. You work at speed and hope the end product is good enough. At night you lie awake, begrudging sleep every second it steals from you, the pounding of your heart louder than any ticking clock.
Is it the passing of time you fear, or is it something else? Time will pass whatever you do; you have absolutely no control in this regard. If you didn't have to own every second, to bend it to your will and make it subject to you, perhaps it would be different. If you could just, once, permit yourself to relinquish that control, it might be a good thing. Perhaps, as someone told me, the universe would order itself around you for a change. Perhaps Canute should have tried surfing instead of turning back the tide.
For now, it is still dark. And the clock is still ticking. And control... is a whole different story...
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