Oh time. You are a funny being, aren't you?
Sometimes, you slow down to the point that I feel fidgety and agitated, confused that no matter what I do, you will not move more quickly.
Sometimes, I am confused by you. I don't understand how sometimes it can take me five minutes, another nearly ten, to walk the same stretch of road.
Sometimes, you move too quickly. All to quickly it is time to leave, time to pack up, time to go to bed.
Sometimes, I make good use of you. Sometimes I don't.
I like the fact that we refer to it as spending time. As though time is a commodity we have a limited amount of- which of course, is entirely the case.
My time in my current job is flying by. Already, we are talking of campaigns to begin in April, events in June, and all too soon it will be September, and I will be cast adrift on the rough sea that is the job market, trying to work out where I want to be, who I want to be near, what I want to do.
I feel that sometimes, I make excellent use of my time. My busy weekends have become a running joke in the office- Monday morning greetings of "So Alice, where have you been this weekend?" have become the norm. I tell stories of the places I've been, sights I've seen, people I've been with, trains I've nearly missed, and trade them for tales of calm weekends, family time, and languorous Sunday lunches.
And when I hear this, I question whether I really am making the best use of my time. Yes- I am all for cramming it all in, but then sometimes, a small part of me wishes my weekends were the luxuriously slow ones, with time for reading, pots of tea, slow strolls rather than quick marches.
Because sometimes, we all need to take a little bit of time.