counting
The semester is officially halfway over! I think I am excited about this. Yes, I am excited.
I feel like all I do is count. Count down, count up. Count in, count out. How many hours until I can have a nap? How many hours until I can go to bed? How many hours did I sleep last night? How many people are holding hands? How many pages are there left to read? How many days left in this week? How many days until Thanksgiving? Christmas? The end of the semester? How many M&Ms left in the jar? How much longer until...?
The list goes on and on. Some days I feel like counting is all I can do to get myself moving, to make the most of everything. But I feel like I am counting my life away. In looking forward to so many things, I lose sight of the here, the right now.
Is it possible to count the present, to hold time tightly in ones hands, keeping it safe and warm? Is it possible to freeze the happy moments, saving them for later, keeping them for always?
It is possible: the concept is called memory. Time is preserved, held captive in the mind. But there is a catch: time changes - memories fade and corrupt, becoming what the mind desires them to be. And slowly, they slip through worn fingers, forgotten.
I hold onto the past, looking towards the future, with the present slipping into memory. And I count, numbers running through my head over and over again. Numbers, silly numbers.
I feel like all I do is count. Count down, count up. Count in, count out. How many hours until I can have a nap? How many hours until I can go to bed? How many hours did I sleep last night? How many people are holding hands? How many pages are there left to read? How many days left in this week? How many days until Thanksgiving? Christmas? The end of the semester? How many M&Ms left in the jar? How much longer until...?
The list goes on and on. Some days I feel like counting is all I can do to get myself moving, to make the most of everything. But I feel like I am counting my life away. In looking forward to so many things, I lose sight of the here, the right now.
Is it possible to count the present, to hold time tightly in ones hands, keeping it safe and warm? Is it possible to freeze the happy moments, saving them for later, keeping them for always?
It is possible: the concept is called memory. Time is preserved, held captive in the mind. But there is a catch: time changes - memories fade and corrupt, becoming what the mind desires them to be. And slowly, they slip through worn fingers, forgotten.
I hold onto the past, looking towards the future, with the present slipping into memory. And I count, numbers running through my head over and over again. Numbers, silly numbers.
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