I resolve, I resolve, I resolve
A couple of nights ago I realized that 2015 marks three years since I’ve been in this little attic apartment. Three. Whole. Years.
When I moved in I was using a borrowed camp mattress as my bed. I did not have a pillow. I was terrified that I would have to spend ONE WHOLE YEAR in the apartment due to the terms of lease etc, and I did not want to stay in Hamilton, I did not want to work at the hospital, I did not want I did not want I did not want.
How fast the time goes now. Three hundred and sixty-five times three.
It terrifies me, somehow. And at the same time knowing this doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would back there at the beginning. So you stop in your hometown for a while. So you rest.
Some things are marked by time, though. Yesterday I ordered three books using a Christmas bookish gift certificate. One of the books was THE UNSPEAKABLE, by Meghan Daum, who is brilliant and wonderful and all of those things that my perpetually caterpillared writer self would one day like to be.
I can’t think of her now, though, without thinking of this essay.
My own Central Sadness feels never far from reach these days. I wish it were not so, but what else is there to do about it, except read and read and write and love and hope that you can catch Time in some instances, even as it speeds on right beside you?