The need to set every task that occurs within the
course of the day to an equal amount of minutes is a habit that has haunted me
all my life. I need exactly five minutes more of sleep, ten minutes to get
ready, and twelve minutes to get from point A to point B. Anything more is
unnecessary, and anything less is insufficient. There’s just something about
time being divided perfectly, and equally into small sections of my life. Every
memory, every event is written down in the record of my life, with a beautiful
round number of minutes sitting right next to it. No extra seconds spill, so
carelessly, over the edge.
The problem with cutting with such straight lines
is, you hardly leave yourself any room to breathe. Sometimes, organization can
be suffocating. Maybe I need to loosen the bands around my wrist and stretch
those uptight muscles. Maybe I ought to tell myself things like, “Today, I will
be happy.” Today I won’t complain. I
will change, not for 24 hours, or 1,440 minutes, but maybe for the rest of my
life. But just for today, I will forget the time, and let everything flow as it
wishes, until its own natural limitation slowly melts away the adventure. I
will eat when I am hungry. I will sleep when I am tired. And in between the
gaps I will find myself doing things as they come to me. But just for today,
can I be this way. Then, I can go back to boxing my life into minutes,
perfectly round, perfectly even, boxes of minutes.
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