On the Pressures of Time


It’s been a strange few days. The hours have been long, but the days have been short (and the weeks even shorter). It’s already the second week of April (the last time I checked it was still the second week of January).

It’s frightening that life can pass by so quickly (and no, I’ve been present to the moments, I really have been).

There’s so, so, so much to do and so little time. Even the writing’s taken a backseat (a fact which I’m sure has contributed to the sense of time compression; the thing about writing everyday is that it makes you relive the day again; the recreation helps slow down the sensation of vertigo; also, not reaching out to people as often through my writing sharpens the sense of isolation; I feel as if I’ve been floating inside my own personal universe over the last few days).

(Having said all that, or rather, having just said that little, already helps tremendously. There is a world out there. Presumably. And for that world, time passes at a normal clip.)

So to the world out there that I’ve nearly forgotten: Hi, I’m here. And I’m sorry I was away so long.

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