Time. While it feels my days pass in form of a half-asleep haze, I also think to know how little time I have. Often my thoughts are so much faster than me and by the time I’ve found a working pen or opened a word document on my four-year-old computer, at the time a bribe to soothe my feelings about leaving my beloved childhood home, the words have left me forever. Then even I who had the thought in the first place cannot recreate those words as they were.

While I stay at home, seeing my friends all busy with new lives and the same old battles to fight, it’s safe to say I feel left behind by time. No doubt it is my own fault, for all I have to do is move on with my life. Though I may be moderately productive, writing, singing and baking, it feels like wasted time. And wasting it waiting. I sit here, awaiting replies that will have a large impact on my near future. But it seems I am currently the only one in my small universe who has too much time on her hands. Everyone else is rushing, excited and stressed, no time to reply to me. So I wait a little longer.

And when the wait is over, I will move on to doing something, who knows what, that will at least make me feel busy and therefore give me the impression of doing something meaningful with my time, like everyone else. Currently I am the only one with too much time and no meaning. And everybody else is too busy to acknowledge the meaning their work gives them – or they think it gives them.

But as I write these words, a little bit of self-pity, no doubt, I sit and wonder when and where and what in my life, will not be wasted time.


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