a step in time

In a conversation about time, today, the following old journal entries came to mind:

25 May, 1994. Here I am in Deep Pan Pizza (in Bracknell). How did I get here? And how long have I been sitting here for? I can remember the dress rehearsal for As You Like It and everything, but now, suddenly, our three-night run is over and done with and I am sitting in Deep Pan Pizza having finished my meal. In fact, I'm almost finished my coffee. And then all of a sudden I will be at home, in Room 17, remembering how I had just written all this not two minutes before, and wonder where on earth the time is gone and then where will I be? Cornwall, I suppose, but that's only, like, five minutes away, then 20 minutes from now I will have my degree and be done with school. . . . How ever can one appreciate what is actually happening when you're already nearly done the next thing by the time you realize that you're onto something good? . . . It is a curious creature, time. It destroys everything around it. It is to be hated and loved and (especially) to be felt indifferent towards. I am obsessed with time because time is life and life is time and they are both nothing and everything.

30 May, 1994. And at last the time is 1:30 p.m. Time goes by so awfully fast. And when you love Cornwall and want to stay and watch the sea and the people having picnics on tartan blankets and the long, thin blades of grass dancing below, time travels much too quickly. But that has been covered. I shall close my eyes, and when I open them I will again be at my heritage blue home in Canada and this dream will be over. The sea will continue crashing on the shore down below this ruined tin mine I write from, and others will stroll by and admire the view and Cornwall will always be here, where I am this very second. But I will be across the earth in a heritage blue house on Bryden Road, which stands there right this second without me.

16 September 2004. The heritage blue house on Bryden still stands, but again without me. That was 10 years ago and I now live two blocks east of there, in my own apartment, where I've been for five years. It's still the present, but that's so far away. Even the conversation that prompted this rant, earlier this afternoon, is history now. Tick, tick, tick . . . it never, ever stops.

I love the future. I love possibilities and the adventure that life never ceases to bring. I love to run headlong into new situations and take in the ever-changing scenery as it rushes past. "More, more, show me more," I say. Then, occasionally (on days like today), it hits me - there are moments I want to stay in a little longer. Places I don't want to speed through on my way to someplace new: Cornwall, England, my chess game today. I don't want to stay forever - I know there's always more and I couldn't, wouldn't, miss out on that. I just want to touch it a little bit longer. To have it again. Or still.