It's November 17th, which means, as per tradition, that it's time to write about waiting as a form of work. Here are the corresponding articles from 2022 and 2023 if you want to check them out.
In 2022, the phenomenon was fairly obvious: I had been counting the wait as part of the work I was doing to earn that glorious feeling of my December holiday. Back then, just waiting and being almost bored felt like it would be enough to induce the euphoria.
In 2023, I was subconsciously saving some work for later (as in for the very last few days of November, instead of maybe doing them that week, ahem) so that the feeling of exhaustion and acceleration would be guaranteed leading up to the very last hours of the month.
In 2024, everything is different.
First of all, it seems like I'm constantly conscious of the exact number of days left. This makes time slow down, even if I did manage to make almost an entire week disappear a short while back. (Oh, will you look at that - it's already been 8 days since that post. Where does the time go?)
Second of all, with the dog and everything, days fly by relatively quickly with routines, and I'm positively afraid that December will pass as quickly and I forget to even notice it.
Therefore, my life has become a weird time paradox movie: on the one hand, time slows down, and on the other, it flies by.
I try my best to take a moment every night on our evening stroll to look at the lights in the suburb below the hill where we live and enjoy the dark ambiance. Sometimes the feeling comes automatically, sometimes I need to consciously think about it. Which one it is usually depends on if I'm hungry or not. I guess I need to cut back on the panna cotta for the remaining November days.
But yeah, in a nutshell: waiting doesn't feel like a form of work this year. Time itself has warped. I'm sure I'll blink and it'll be February.
Just as I'm sure the blink will last a lifetime.
RK out.
