Sunday, 13 January 2013

Clock without hands (30p)

I have a problem with time. The problem is complex and has no solution, so I'm not expecting any answers.

When I look at this problem, this problem that has no solution, I know that time is frightening and scary and leaves terrible scars and deep wounds and then look what it did to my hair (grey) and my jawline (sagging). The bastard.

But time is comforting and consoling and kind. Time places deep layers of forgetfulness over my sorrows, so that when I colour my hair (brown) and do my most determined jaw exercises (firm) where I am sure the muscles along my throat outline a perfectly smooth neck (I am standing just so and the light is dim), then I can't recall how I was so dismayed.

But time is more annoying, most frustrating, more complete with anguish than any other circumstance I know, because I can never grab hold of it, not one thread nor spark of dust to keep and hold and say, this is the moment I'm keeping. Forever.

Time won't let me do that. It moves on so beautifully effortlessly and smoothly with day and night flowing regardless of me, that I can only admire its resilience and staying power and think, here are qualities to draw inspiration from. Quiet understatement and unbowed vision. Set your face to the horizon and let nothing impede your course in life. Those are strengths indeed to teach the children.

I don't have any answers to my problem with time. Maybe I just like having the problem.

But I do find the most perfect present to myself today at the car boot sale that Squirrel loves to junk monkey her way round, every Sunday morning.

I've put my clock without hands on the only piece of hierloom furniture I own, standing proudly between the broken decorated picture frame that has no picture and the carved wooden box that holds all my secrets.