I’ll bet you all think it’s been really hard on Stuart and I, to be separated for these past few months, with only a smattering of beautiful English days together all summer. You were wrong, relative to the SKULL CRUSHING IMPATIENCE that I am currently feeling.
Today is Thursday, September 23rd. Stuart arrives, as you’re all well sick of hearing, on Thursday, October 7th. That’s 336 hours, with about 98 hours subracted for blissful non-clock-watching sleep. Now I’m freaking out, because 336 hours sounds like a LOT more time than, say, 14 days or 2 weeks. And there’s one thing I’m not very good at: waiting.
The past few days, since we broke through the three week mark, Stuart and I find it hard to even talk about anything else to each other. I lie awake at night, staring at the furniture in my room and rearranging it so that there’s the most amount of space for all our stuff. I reorganized my kitchen this weekend and put larger items on the top shelves with a confidence I didn’t possess when I first moved there, shorty mcsmallface that I am. I’ve mentally coordinated and trashed about ten Airport Outfit ideas. My obsessively plan-oriented brain has been going into hyperdrive, complete with smoke coming out the ears.
And none of it is making the time go any faster. Two weeks feels like the Sahara of Eternity until we’re together again. I’ve started snapping at subway trains and deli sandwich makers because they’re not moving fast enough. As if somehow, the slower other people function, the slower time will move towards October 7th.
Help. Does anyone remember that whole Wrinkle in Time thing? Any ideas on how to turn concrete time into a mutable, subservient being? How can I make two weeks become two hours? Advice is greatly appreciated… AND STEP ON IT.