Today did not exist last year. It will not exist next year. When I click “new post,” I notice that wordpress doesn’t acknowledge today exists today: it dates my post March 1. I feel like putting “today” and “exist” and “last year” in quotes. This seems like the beginning of a quagmire,
so i spin my chair away from the computer and watch Callum eating a banana and gently touching the houseplants. Earlier he draped mardi gras beads on a wee dinosaur with the concentration of someone doing calculus. He brings me his shoes repeatedly and insists on something to me in a language I do not understand, all the while refusing to let me help him put on his shoes. It is exhausting and repetitive and sweet and baffling. It is snowing in flurries, and I am making my second cup of coffee, with a filter cone, as my percolator broke a few months back.
They say today is a correction, to prevent our calendar from drifting.
A day of correction. A hiccup in our notion of time. We are obsessed with time, with age, with hours and minutes. We have so many things to do, we parcel moments into grids, we monitor the grids and set alarms and reminders on our smart phones. We grasp hold of these pieces of time and we Use them For All They Are Worth, and we think we are stopping time by owning it.
I think the correction is an illusion. I think it might be good to realize we are drifting every now and then, that nothing is solid. That what we call day and what we call night are nothing more than distance from the sun, that we are little creatures on a spinning orb in a vast openness. This makes me think of all my friends and neighbors and family and the people i send emails to and the people i wait on and the people who piss me off in traffic, all sitting in a rowboat that no one remembered to tie up. We haven’t drifted very far. Its weird to be drifting, so we’re all kind of staring at each other, quiet for once, realizing that we are all in this tiny boat together. The shore is within wading distance, and no crises appear to be imminent.
Still, we feel the need to hold onto each other.