The clock in my room had been incessantly ticking, only to suddenly stop. Knowing that it needed a change of batteries, I removed it from my room, telling myself I would change the batteries. Or maybe, I didn’t want to. In reality, there was a dire, innate need for my own ticking to stop; however, unlike the clock, I was on the verge of imploding. This wouldn’t be the first time.
Right before quarantine, I had joked with friends about needing to disconnect-- wanting to shut my phone off, sit at home, and evaluate recent decisions. They say to be careful for what you wish for, but I’m quite content. It’s as if I somehow knew that I would be the happiest I had been in a very long time.
I think it’s evident we all needed this time to understand our previous interpretation of normality, and what it now means to us. To me, there is beauty in time stopping. The days of the week interconnect, and the calendar becomes a piece of paper.
Then I can take the time to invest in myself. Invent my own timeline within a rapidly progressing society. Write again, for the world was moving too fast to give me a chance.
You can’t plant a seed in a pressure cooker.