You see, I was good at it, like super-good and super-in-control. I had my life planned down to the second, including time allotted for libertine duties, as appropriate, for a lady with designated preferences.
But then stuff happened. Like, life-stuff happened, and I lost hold of the bridle. The damn thing got away from me.
It all wouldn’t bother me so much if I didn’t know how wonderful it was to be in control and so damn sure of myself.
Somewhere between triumph and heartbreak, long days and even longer work-weeks, it all just slipped away.
Time broke free and it seems that these days all I can do is watch it pass by like a beautiful summer storm that roars in off the lake, leaving you breathless, awestruck hoping for one more rumble of thunder and a few flashes of dry lightning in the distance when the world is quiet and dark.
Today a phone call from my friend Carlo served as the mediation bell reminder that I had been meaning to get my camera out and get the lens fixed for oh, I don’t know, three years. Three years! Three. Years…
…and so time passes this way for me; Alarm clocks, appointment after appointment after appointment, followed by obligations only the truly insanely ‘called’ to service professionals in my line of work would tolerate.
Here we are at the top of summer. I can see it rolling out in front of me; seasons of fresh produce still dewy at farmer’s markets, sunshine and beaches and wine on the grass at twilight, the summer season at Stratford, days lazing by the lake, and humid nights under light, cool sheets tangled up in my lover’s body.
Having a new relationship in my life has turned my attention to time; perception and the perpetual passing of the baton between tasks that I no longer wish to be doing or hold meaning for me.
Ah yes, the almighty dollar at work in our false economy keeps us subordinate to alarm clocks and interest rates. Yet, it also keeps us ultra-aware of what brings us meaning, peace and joy.
Light cannot exist without darkness, and let’s face it darlings, no one wants to live in the dim-light between needing and satisfaction. It’s like having to pee in the bushes when there’s a beautiful powder room complete with triple-milled jasmine soap, just waiting for you delicate tush.
Perhaps it’s age, or being in the throes of new love that has me evaluating how I broker my time and where I want my energy to be spent.
More and more, it’s less and less, that I feel I need. My new beau often asks, “What is your want?”
My wants are significantly simple. My current situation reflects the obvious gaps between what I wanted then and what I want now; the price I’m paying for figuring it all out.
Time is now doing double duty; catching up on what once might have been, and the distance I’ve travelled to get where I am now.
A fickle, fickle, teacher is time. My only hope is to quietly and in my own way, make peace with the miserable beast, so that I may continue to frolic in the land of my perceptions and carnal delights.