Time is on my mind, and in my mind, and around my mind, and swirling in multicolored torrents in the recesses of my mind.
For me, time seems to come in two flavors: not enough, being too filled with events and decisions; or, way too slow, like thick mud I have to make my way through to get somewhere else, although the somewhere else is too distant to identify, and anyway, I don’t really know where I’m heading.
I wish the two were interchangeable, then I’d have enough time to do everything that needed doing, without haste or confusion, but not so much as to generate impenetrable boredom.
But that’s rarely true, at least for me.
 © Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2012; all rights reserved