In three weeks I will pack my army green rucksack full of impractical shoes, black & white 35mm film, books that pair well with train rides and mark it for Paris. But that is in three weeks. Until then I have pages to write, psychological conditions to memorize and leases to sign.... I don't necessarily like until then's
There is a line in the book 'Franny & Zooey' where the two are talking and Zooey says "no one is counting minutes." It is so simple, so small in the greater context of the book, but it is one of my favorites.
I feel that at this particular point in my life, I have surmountable reasons for counting minutes. Summer is approaching, classes end in a few days (both of which signal the days of endless reading and whims of prolonged enjoyment) and another year is added to the chalk tally of my stint in academia. And while all these things are fast approaching, my time is not spent counting seconds on my hands, willing them to pass faster so that I may come even a minute closer to the prequel of my next six months. Instead they are spent on porches hoping for rainstorms, on bikes exploring forgotten streets, in fields eating picnics and in a tree house sharing sacred moments. Rather than my list of 'instead of's' these are my daily doings; my friendly take times between classes and work. These simple acts of play are my times spent.