Time

I was inspired recently by a blog about different concepts of time. It was written by my Myspace friend,Terri, who not only writes beautifully but also seems to experience the vagaries of life in much the same way, and at much the same time, as I do. Time is on my mind at the moment, and on my hands.

Prague seems a lifetime ago, yet it's only been seven weeks since I left. With a shoe-box for a memory, I find myself rifling through snapshots in my mind that are already dog-eared and stained with nostalgia.

Time seems to have flown by and though it has been filled with journeys to the North and South of England, Ireland, Luxembourg, Belgium and Holland, each day has stretched out before me like a yawning chasm. Without a routine or a pressing appointment I find it hard to know what to do with my time. It doesn't really matter which country I'm in, it's still just another day to try to fill with some purposeful activity.

That isn't to say that I haven't enjoyed the time with friends and family; lots of fun, food and laughter to remember. It just seems that life is nothing more than a few significant moments scattered amongst a big pile of wasted time.

I've always been good at wasting time. Since arriving in Holland nearly a month ago I've become an expert. Getting up around 10, I can make breakfast last till lunchtime and then spend the whole afternoon playing spider solitaire. At 3pm I'm wondering what the hell to do with my day then in the blink of an eye I'm amazed that it's midnight already.

Being in Holland is my big black hole of time regardless of how I fill my days. Here today, in the house that was my home and with the man that was my husband for five years, it's easy to forget that twenty years, and a whole expanse of life, passed by in between.

Last week we dug out some old photographs and I saw myself as a young woman in her twenties. It fascinates me to look at them. I try to recapture what it felt like to be me then, but the memory fades like whisper. When I think I remember, I find that what I thought I felt is merely what I feel now – or perhaps there is no difference between the two. I haven't changed much; just older, maybe wiser. Lying here on the sofa in the early hours of the morning, writing, the only discernible difference between the 'me' now and the 'me' then is that now I'm using a laptop, not a pen and paper.

Listening to the stories of people who knew my son during his school holidays spent in Holland, hearing of his bumps and scrapes and laughter that I was never part of, I feel like I've been in a coma for decades. I existed, but I wasn't there. He is the same, just bigger, and an exponentially bigger pain in the arse.

But while I've been wasting time, pondering time, recalling times past and having a good time, I have, of course, done some practical stuff too. Hours have been spent wrestling with the endless bureaucracy of securing my new job. My carefully constructed timetable is virtually redundant as everything has taken much longer than planned. When the bank said my account would be open in three days, it took ten days. When the notary said a week for my documents to be legalized they arrived three weeks later. As I crawl through the paper chase, the deadline is racing past me like an Olympic sprinter. Where did the time go? I was sitting here patiently waiting and it just flew on by without stopping.

According to the naïve schedule I made way back in April, I should be flying to my new job in six days from now. In the reality of endlessly expanding and contracting time, my papers arrived in Korea yesterday. How much longer before the documents are processed and I can book my flight? Ha ha. I'm not even going to try to speculate, though I suspect that events are about to speed up. Everything will have to be fitted into that magical time-capsule, the last minute. Then my time will be so full that I won't have time to think about time, which may be a blessing.