Beckteria

Time

Time is such a bizarre construct. It seems like when you’re young that it moves too slowly and when you get older it moves too quickly. Time distorts how you feel about things—the more you think about a particular memory, the fuzzier it becomes. Of course, two people can be at the same event and have a completely different spin on what happened. Time only compounds these distortions and perceptions.

My mind has become turbid. Memories of memories surface. It’s not exactly nostalgia, but it certainly becomes confusing remembering the way things were, how I once was, how far (or not far) I’ve come. I’m blanking on things that once would have been instantly recalled—conversations, things people did at an event (that I should probably remember), whatever.

Hmm, but photos and journals remind me. I use them as a reference for what “really” happened. They certainly jog the memory. I’m actually trying to collect digital photos from my friends and coworkers before I head out. I’m sure that there are plenty of pictures of myself that I’d rather burn than see again, but I’m always trying to upgrade and edit myself. I’m always trying to create a better me.

With time comes the truth, the way it should be in this dimension. It proves that the cheerleader that you hated in high school really is fat and ugly. The jock is stupid and only meant for blue-collar labor. Time is not always good to people, but it has usually been good to me. I try to remember the important things—people, birthdays, the little things. I really think that I’ve improved over time, although I don’t feel as smart as I did when I was a kid. I remembered everything. It was ridiculous.

And so I tell myself that one year isn’t much time at all, even when one afternoon can feel like an eternity. One year to clear my head, understand myself better, improve at hopefully an exponential speed. Only time will tell.

posted by Bex @ 7:27 AM