But then I blinked…
Time seems to slip away faster now.
I blink and it’s evening, soon after I’ve sat down with my morning coffee, a fresh Scrivener page and my planner.
I blink and those long gray sprouts from my scalp have chunked together into thick blocks of white and ash. What used to look like shimmering highlights now bare the mark of age, genetics, and stress.
The Xanax in my purse says it’s the latter, but I don’t really need them, I don’t think. I’m only supposed to take them.
The artwork that hangs in my home that draws oohs and awes from visitors was all done as a teenager.
I blinked and I was thirty. I blinked and I had pets and three kids and a house and cars and a husband.
Who’s that? How did I meet him in between blinks?
Where did I find the time to have all these things? To get all these thing?
I’m not sure how any of this happened. It’s all happening too fast. But I don’t know how to slow down. No one told me.
Have I been stinted? Robbed of time? Held at gunpoint?
I make decisions like they’re the last ones I’ll ever make.
I took the advice of someone once, he told me to “live in the moment”. I took him too literally, I suppose. Living in the moment makes time hasten.
I wished for Friday and Friday came and the weekend ended and then it’s Wednesday and Friday rolled around again…
I’m going to blink and I’ll be dead.
If only I could keep my eyes open, always.
It only hurts sometimes. Not nearly as much as missing all this—everything.
If only Time knew how much I tried to do, how much I tried to be a better person.
A better companion.
A better mother, wife, sister, daughter.
But then I blinked…
I’m Sara Eatherton-Goff, a non-fiction and fiction writer, visual artist, and entrepreneur mom-person currently writing on Medium and other publications. Check out some of my collective works on my website, and join my Creative Community for a weekly update, story share, and more.
The ideas used to flow like the constant river, connecting lakes and oceans just brimming with them.medium.com