Sunday, February 28, 2010

Mean Time

(Pre-Script: This post fills it's own space when read as the song, "Blackbird," #14 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

I packed the boxes tightly and with tape, then labeled what each one contained directly on the top of the box. I left some things out that I was going to use in the meantime, like a bowl and a cup. Every minute is the meantime. We put up with the meantime as a necessary process in hopes that it will lead us to the nicetime. Every second of meantime, we are dreaming about the nicetime. The niceplace. The nice. Sometimes it's like a mirage, taunting, like "here I am, right in front of you, see me, now come and get what I offer." but the more you run towards it, it never gets any closer, and you get so tired of running.
When putting things in places they do not belong in order to bring them to places where they will belong, make sure to remember that the space in between is not the drudgery it seems; it's just the place where you stop to catch your breath, then keep going.


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