Time.
My old friend.
Time.
My muse.
Time.
My enemy.
I often pray that I can stop time. My daughter is about to enter middle school. My baby has somehow turned three. I want to hit "Pause" right this instant.
I often dream that I am forward in time. My book is published. I'm holding readings and signings. I'm travelling, promoting this book that I love, that I fully believe in. I'm ready.
I often feel that there's never enough time. I'm grading papers as new papers come in to me. I look at the stack, yet I long to write. I long to escape back into the fictional world I've created. But there's no time for that right now.
I often feel that time passes so slowly. Some mornings I awake and immediately think ahead to the moment I climb back into bed, the covers pulled up and over my head, darkness in my personal cave.
Time.
My love.
Time.
My reality.
Time.
My dreamer.
