These days are frantic.
Things tend to get complicated at the start of the academic year. New courses, delays and technical mishaps… Unsollicited complications, but real all the same. I accept the flaws and brace myself with a kind of optimistic cynicism nurtured by experience.
Wake up, take breakfast, study, prepare lunch, eat lunch.
Continue working on the backlog. Dig a tunnel with a plastic teaspoon – you can do it.
Release some energy at the gym.
Launch the dish-washer. Stupid machine leaves detergent stains on the dishes. Wipe-wipe-wipe.
There is a cosy students’ dorm feel to the apartment. A bundle of clean clothes are waiting for me to tend to their crinkles, but they’ll have to wait – Ms Perfect is on holidays.
In this chaos of lost deadlines, I try to slowly get my microcosm under control. The big world is in a mess anyway. Too many things on my plate and I know I am being myself.
When the chance is given however, I pause to refuel.
When I press on play again I think that having time is a disposition. Not having time is dispossession.