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That’s the problem with belief: if you rely on it too heavily, you have a lot of picking up to do after you find out you were wrong. I prefer facts.
It occurs to me again that time can be an illusion, even though it is also a fact.
“That’s about right. Put another way, a full, long life is about 650,000 hours. What do you think when you hear that number?”
“So even fewer than 650,000.”
I spend the next few hours ostensibly sorting through the pictures my mother has sent home with me. I say ostensibly—a word I love—because every ten minutes on the dot, I get up and peek through the curtains on the front window to see if I can spot Donna Middleton and/or Kyle. Each time, I see no one, though I can see by the car that they are home.
Photographs, it seems to me, are both moments in time and bits of memory.
I have the memory of that day with Donna and Kyle, but I also know that memory is imprecise. If I’d had a camera, instead of just a memory, I could have caught the moments so that they would never escape me.
Doing what you want and what feels right strikes me as being more important than doing something just to prove a point. I think Dr. Buckley would agree.
The grocery store. That’s what I’m thinking when my eyes flutter open at 7:38 a.m. A man needs a good breakfast on a day like today, and I am a man, but I have no breakfast.
Skipping the grocery store on Tuesday showed that I can be bold and impulsive, but it doesn’t help me today, when I am out of food.
