A couple of nights ago I wandered in a dream convinced I would be left gasping my last at the end, marching off to some certain yet unknown doom, perhaps of my own making besides. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing had worked like it should have yesterday, from computer equipment to instructions to convincing the kids to set aside the games for a minute or two. At some point or another, we have to understand that killing time is just that: it’s not coming back, and I hope that you were productive with what you were given before. On the other hand there’s lots of time left on hand and why not learn some patience, right?
Yesterday morning when I woke up there was still the possibility of heading off to a freedom march in the City besides, leaving from the Caltrain station and winding around to Yerba Buena Gardens. We didn’t do it, but I’m learning there’s a lot more activities here than I thought, and what proximity to a city means. Still, just proximity; it’s a short train ride away but that still involves time and time and time; do we have premonitions of how much time is left and how we’re meant to spend it? By the end of the weekend, how much is left in the tank? Breakfast and a show?
In the end what you end up regretting may not be what you remembered or what you could handle; the joys are overwhelmed by all the things wrong, assuming you’re a glass-half-empty guy and what else can you accomplish for the weekend anyway? Keep driving on, stay safe and be well; we woke up on the right side of the dirt this morning and let’s keep it that way.