Tempus Fugit


I find myself sitting, staring at the wall, trying too hard to think of something to write. I have about six minutes before I need to pack my things and move on to the next activity of the day: too long to sit doing nothing but not long enough to actually do anything either. It’s amazing how fast six minutes will pass when you’re working and how slow it will crawl when you’re waiting.

Back in high school French class I spent a lot of time staring at the clock over the blackboard watching the second hand go around. It was an old mechanical clock and each time a minute passed the minute hand would clunk backwards before launching forward to the next minute with a metallic thunk. That was how time passed in high school French class: Clunk-THUNK. Clunk-THUNK. Clunk-THUNK.

In elementary school the clocks were electric and the second hand would sweep around the face in a continuous smooth motion: the minute and hour hands moving too slowly for the eye to detect. It was under these conditions that I learned that I could hold my breath for a full minute. I got a lot of practice.

Clocks really haven’t changed much since then, but now that I’m studying filmmaking instead of math (or high school French) I don’t typically find myself watching the clock as much anymore.

Skip forward: it is now nearly eleven. In this digital age time doesn’t fast forward in the VHS sense- it skips ahead to the next chapter in an instant: in this case skipping ahead to the end of the day as if nothing happened in the interim between me starting this post and now when I am finishing it. If I’m not careful I will be skipping forward to morning and the whole night will have passed in the blink of a shut-eye.

So on that note: time for bed. Time’s a-wastin’.


~ by Gwydhar Gebien on January 26, 2015.

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