A slight return to form
If I had to pinpoint the one over-arching sensation that has defined the last three years of my life, I would definitely pick the passage of time. Or rather the swift passage of time. It was one of those things the old dudes used to bray about when I was a kid: “Where’s the time go?”, “Kids grow up so fast?”, “It’s been that long already?”. I looked at it as a symptom of some greater disease, like shaking hands or popped capillaries on the nose of a drunk concluding that the second you opine the clock, you were well past your best days. When you’re a kid, time never catches up with you. But I’m hardly a kid and I never took the passage of time for palpable. These days I get whiplash looking at a calendar. My head permanently exists a couple months in the future with the trunk of me stuck in the past. Work is always the next next deadline, the seasonal sowing and reaping of TV development. Life closes out on me quicker: that project I started was months ago, that girl I dated last year is now getting married, that great thing I did was years past, the vain Google alert I turned on during my halcyon days as boy wonder now only asks me if I’m still alive, whatever happened to me, where I am. Spun on a clock is the answer, I guess. To it’s credit, feeling time is a rush. But not a rush of adrenaline or emotion or feeling alive. It’s like being shot from a gun … constant acceleration, no signs of stopping, very little of it making sense. And I come on here and it’s been almost a year since I’ve posted anything. And of that, little honesty. Where does the time go? First, mea culpa. Second, for the 101 of you who subscribe here for inexplicable reasons, a promise to do this better. I’m not promising quality or humor or anything meme-worthy. But I am promising publication, and with consistency. Somewhere down the line, I’m hoping that a point to this emerges. Because if it does, I will use it to pin down all those fleeing days and keep them from scuttling away. But in the mean time …
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sianpierre reblogged this from gideonyago and added:
once super-young journalist who proved to...cool could be conscious. As
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