Time is lost, saved, borrowed and often, a river. Some times it's stolen or of the essence. I am finding it to be surprisingly elastic as well.
When I left the Torpedo Factory Art Center after seventeen years, I expected to do so much exploration in my home studio. Working four days a week had limited what I could accomplish. The remaining three days were given over to real life: groceries, appointments, and obligations. I longed to have hours to experiment, study and travel.
So, here I am, free as a bird.
Possibilities are so vast, I am immobilized.
Without the 4/3 dynamic, the days meld together. Everything feels like a day off. I no longer get up at 5 am to jumpstart the day.
I am woozy with time. I love the slow mornings. But progress soon drifts off to something else. There is no sense of accomplishment.
My daughter calls every Wednesday at 5:30. She never forgets. Yesterday she didn't call. I kept expecting the phone to ring. Hours later I realized it was Friday, not Wednesday.
I am not complaining, just surprised.
