Yes. I know I’m late. It’s now 9ish pm and I spent nearly two days recovering from no sleep two nights in a row. I wouldn’t actually call the days wasted. I managed to check, answer and trash emails, sign petitions (do they really do any good?) run some errands, get an echocardiogram, deposit a check (yeah!) and ponder the meaning of life. Somehow all that did not give me that overblown sense of self satisfaction I get from writing my blog in the wee hours of the morning, before dogs and people are awake. My brain seems to become noticeably clearer as I tap tap on my keyboard, and that is a very good feeling!
Lately I’ve been time-traveling, i.e. comparing various stages of my life with how I actually viewed the meaning of time as it was passing.
1. As an obstreperous teen my time was ruled by school and parental requirements. I detested and was incredibly bored by school, with the exception of a great art teacher and an abfab English teacher; both instilled in me an immense hornyness for the creative arts. I actually don’t think I considered the subject of time except perhaps that I couldn’t wait to be 16 then 18 then 21. My teenage years were a rebellious contradiction, as I’m sure many of my generation experienced, between not being a kid anymore and not being a responsible adult. My experimental forays into sex, drugs and rock and roll, were both good and not so. I was fortunate to not dive too deeply into the drug scene, having had the wherewithal to “just say no”, and being a volunteer at the LA Free Clinic and witnessing drug overdoses to cast out any doubts I might’ve had about turning on, tuning in and completely dropping out. As for the sex and rock and roll…I was, shall i say, quite a bit experimental. (Giggle). Growing up in LA I was on the frontlines of the summers of love and peace as a bonafide Flower Child. And, fortunately, though I marched, I did not get arrested for protesting against the Vietnam war or “I’m not a crook”, Nixon, nor did I burn my bra though for a time I was a member of a radical feminist group and some members actually did set theirs on fire. Time flowed like a good acid trip. I only had one of those.
2. As a young designer of leather sportswear and high fashion menswear I managed to develop some sense of time or timeliness, at least when it came to when I had to get the spring or holiday collections ready. I was rarely late to work having been instilled with the importance of promptness by my mother who, when I was much younger gave me the Birdseye view of her nagging my sister because she was always late. I suppose I became punctual because I abhorred being bombarded with incessant “Hurry up, you’re going to be late!” I was too young or self absorbed to realize time indeed was marching on, regardless if I was late, early or right on time.
3. My years in the rag biz were relatively short lived. Well into my second year of high end menswear, in the early morning rush hours I, in my brand new car, got wham bam boomed into another vehicle by a movie star’s wife who crashed into me while I was heading into work. The ambulance siren, brought me to my senses as I was being transported to the hospital. I spent the next week on a recovery floor in traction, putting together the events which had occurred during and post accident. Time didn’t actually stand still but it definitely made me stop and change the gears which had been moving my life in a semi-upward direction. I moved home to the parents, having left my apartment and bade “tootle loo” to my ritzy job mingling with the stars of Beverly Hills.
4. And then I went fishing! No, seriously, I went fishing. Salmon fishing in the cold and often rough waters off the coast of Vancouver Island, in Canada. Call me crazy. Perhaps it was the trauma of the car accident or my need to get way outta LaLaLand or maybe it was because a young, handsome and very silly fisherman swept me off my already unsteady feet – probably all three of those life altering events. Speaking of time, it stood still in the tiny boat in the big Pacific, especially when the weather was shit and I was praying for a bus or space ship to carry me up and off that rocky thing.
Okay, I’m now putting my blast into the past on hold so I can finally go to sleep. Tune in tomorrow, though I cannot promise I will continue my foray into my sordid timeline, at least not for now.
Have sweet dreams, or pleasant morning depending on when you read this. Time, though a human construct, marches on for us all. Zzzzz