Time is a Strange Thing
It’s true and time does do strange things. For example, my daughter has been in school for a whole three days now. It feels more like a week and a half. That is strange. Annoyingly strange.
However, what I am actually getting at is the fact that after you have written something, let it sit for awhile and then when you come back…things are a lot different. And I don’t get it. Sure, sure time gives you distance and you can see things you didn’t see before, blah, blah, blah. But still, there has got to be some strange and wonderful writing time-continuum that is seriously messed up. Do errors grow? (I swear I would have noticed that ‘but’ was missing its ‘u’ when editing months ago.) Does some writing become wittier and more creative and wonderfully descriptive? (Or did I do that?)
I’ve got things I don’t even remember writing. I’ve got things that are so ‘out there’ descriptively that I wonder who wrote them (must have been me). I’ve got blatant errors that make me wonder where my head was. Or wasn’t. And I’ve got some pieces of writing that I look at and think ‘now, there. I’ve got something there’. So is this all real, or is my writing some victim (a somewhat happy victim) of some strange time warp? Or even better, am I in some weird time-frame where nothing is actually real? Maybe I’m really some little kid’s science experiment and at any moment I could be tossed in the dumpster by the kid’s mom when the poor kid isn’t looking. Or maybe, the kid’s older sibling will dump some of his dad’s beer in the tank to make things really interesting. (Hello out there? Yes, I prefer Vodka. Thanks! Preferably with juice, if you can swing it. It doesn’t matter what kind of juice.) Maybe I’m in some solipsistic world and I only think I am real and that all that surrounds me is important and significant and real. Maybe this is all just pretend and fluxes on mood.
