I can never really get the hang of it; always elusive and confusing. Days and weeks will pass in a spiral of slowing and speeding moments that I'm never fully aware of.
Summer is coming to an end soon and I have not completed any of the tasks I wanted to. I have not fixed up and learned how to drive the manual Acura Integra that has been sitting in my driveway. I have not completed any writing projects. I haven't even finished putting together the zine for the comic shop.
Needless to say, I am not great at completing things.
Time.
I mean, look at the babies in that photo (that's me in the middle). I am about the same age my niece is now, which places it about twenty five years ago. A whole quarter century, almost the entirety of my life; yet in the grand scheme of things, it is a blip on the cosmic timeline.
I guess what I am getting at is, we tend to worry too much about time, I worry too much about time. I make up these timelines and then sink farther and farther into a cycle of shame and defeat when it doesn't play out the way I think it will. In my quest to be kinder to myself (and live a less anxious existence) I need to let go of some of these expectations.
You'd think that after all these years I would realize that I complete things in my own time. I get this feeling that I am a failure because I don't do everything I want to and in turn, completely ignore the things that I am actually accomplishing.
This summer I started a writer's group and I'm putting together an all women creators zine. I've been keeping up on my blog. Though it wasn't much, I made some progress on my graphic novel Delirium. If we don't celebrate our accomplishments, it's easy to forget they are even happening.
I need to stop thinking about time in a sense that I am wasting it.
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