Slow passage of time
I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like writing but I don't know what else to do. I need to do something to occupy the time. Something to fill the void between conversations and meetings. It seems that there is never time enough, yet now, today, there is too much because I know that the phone is not set to ring today. And no ringing means no voice on the other end. I feel like an excited and anxious beast and her voice is the music that soothes the savage tendencies towards anxiety inside of me. How strange this thing. How different is my life since our first contact.
I must speak of different things lest the time pass even more slowly due to my yearning. What to talk about. Hmmm, let's see. My boss, and also good friend, is receiving packages at the office on a regular basis. His mother is older and she is moving from the home where she raised her three children into a smaller, more manageable home for just herself. In the process of preparing she has gone through the house and packed up many things from my boss's childhood and has been sending his past to our office in various sized boxes. Old drawings, 45 rpm records, books, toys and other bric-a-brac. The conference room table and floor are littered with the remains of his past.
Nope, didn't really help. Damn.