Words escape me. What is there to say when each day is the same, each moment feels like a mediocre lifetime? Another sunrise, another cup of coffee, another look out the window to see if the ducks have returned for the day.
Another at-home yoga session, or not, depending on what time I wake up. Which, why does that matter? I have all the excruciating time in the world. What is time when you are not bound by external societal responsibilities and obligations?
Another text, another call, another video chat. Another meme or dog photo shared via instant messaging. Does “instant messaging” date me? Maybe I’ll think about that this afternoon.
Time is taken for granted when how we spend it is slightly out of our control. But what do we think of it now, those of us who have so much of it on our hands? I can’t speak for you, but I’m still taking it for granted. When all of my time is my own, I squander it. No restrictions or schedule, very few deadlines to meet; it should feel freeing.
And it does, in a way. Not in a refreshing or wide-eyed excitement way, but a more flailing in the ocean without land or lifeboat in sight. At least I haven’t lost my flair for the dramatic in all of this.
So just like every Sunday for the past few weeks, I will make my to-do lists, tentative daily schedules, and wishlists for the days when I have less free time; anything to bring a little order and control into this new normal. I will once again set goals to use my time wisely and productively, so I don’t disappear into the ether (anyone else feeling this way?). Maybe I will schedule more writing time, and maybe I will actually use all of that time to write. And maybe today will be the day the words return.