Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Apparently, I don't, since I posted my Wacky Web Wednesday segment on TUESDAY! Good grief! It even says very clearly right above the post - Tuesday, July 29, 2008. Aye, Dios mio!

In my defense, my sense of time has really been skewed this summer. This always happens to me when I don't have a regular routine. Days and weeks flow into each other and even though I'm not doing much (or perhaps because I'm not?), they seem to go by very quickly.

Time is an interesting concept. We have our arbitrary measurements of it and I work to help teach those to my students - seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries...I use these measurements. I abide by them (mostly, as I do have a tendency to be 5 minutes late everywhere I go),but I'm not sure I believe in them fully.

I have always been drawn to stories about time/time travel. As a kid, I watched Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour in "Somewhere in Time" just about every time it came on cable. Madeline L'Engle, one of my favorite authors, consistently plays with the idea of time in her books (tesseract, anyone?). "100 Years of Solitude," "The Time Traveler's Wife," "Pulp Fiction," "Memento," "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban," "Peace Like a River,"...I could go on and on.

But I'm also a schedule person. I make to do lists. I set up a schedule for myself each day. I like meeting deadlines.

I've stopped wearing my watch, which I used to be almost obsessively compulsive about. The battery needs to be changed and at first I just didn't get around to going to get a new one. The Attorney is in a similar predicament. He is attempting to read "100 Years of Solitude" in Spanish. When his watch stopped, he decided he would not get it fixed until he finished the book. I decided I wouldn't get a new watch battery until we get our referral for the Baby.

Two years is a long time. Two years and 3 months to be exact. Longer than that really. Those seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years keep marching on. But, like something out of L'Engle or Garcia Marquez, they also flow around me, along with the other 30 something years of my life. I'd rather float in them than march along right now.