burning the days
i can make money but i can't make time
Ever since I turned twenty-one, it feels like time has been moving too quickly. I’m twenty-three now, and the past few years have felt like a blur: I was sad and in college, and time passed. I was happy and in college, and days passed. I was dissociated and graduated, I was working and stressed, I was working and not stressed, and the months burned by.
I booked a somewhat last minute flight earlier in the week so I could spend time with my grandpa before he passes, and I landed back in Michigan late last night. Being back at my childhood home feels really fucking trippy. I hadn’t thought of my old room since I left for Austin in July, and then all of a sudden I’m dabbing years-old magnolia perfume onto my wrists and seeing the newspaper from 1963 that I bought from a garage sale I went to during middle school:
My books are scattered all over my room and gathering dust. I have a laminated “KEEP OUT AND I MAEN IT” drawing that I made when I was six hanging in my room and a poster with that just says “Sad” in a bunch of different sizes from my high school emo days. There are piles of clothing on my bed and random perfumes and papers and pens all over my desk, the same mess in the same arrangement that was there in July. And unless my parents sell the house, it’s still going to be here this way for the years to come.
Earlier this morning, my mom made pork and dill baozi, and I watched turkeys in the backyard. My parents told me about how they discovered a new ethnic market that sells ribeye for $7 a pound and large bunches of herbs for $0.59. I cried in despair about how cheap Michigan is even with inflation. We then drove to the nursing home, where I helped an old man buy two cherry Pepsi’s. Now I’m here waiting for my grandpa to wake up. Time is actually slowing the fuck down, and I missed that.
Your time is running out. I keep telling myself I can make time for whatever I want in the future, but that’s not really true. I can spend time, give time, exchange time, take time, pass time, waste time, and burn time, but I can’t make time. All those nights as a teen when I felt like the night could stretch on indefinitely were partly illusions.
You have to use your time well. I have a finite number of weeks on earth left, and that number is always diminishing. That means I have to use my time well, and I’ve been failing. I’ve spent over twelve weeks at my job now and didn’t call my grandpa and spent so many of my waking moments outside of work talking about work instead of remembering that I have other dimensions in my life.
You and only you have been wasting your own time. I spent the last few years of my life being addicted to a real-time TV show called the Valerie Show. In the Valerie show, Valerie is constantly stressed and panicking and unable to slow the fuck down. Events in the Valerie Show are always urgent and all-consuming. Valerie is having boy drama, Valerie is having career crises. And when I watch the Valerie show, I’m unable to be in the present moment and do things good for my soul, like visiting my grandpa or supporting Alex as much as I can.
Secretly, most of the shit you currently do doesn’t actually matter. Earlier in the week, I asked my grandpa what about my mom he was proudest of. He said that he was so proud that she gave him three granddaughters. He didn’t mention anything about his career. I’ve been feeling this a lot these days, that the happiest moments in my life will be eating soft-boiled eggs with Alex or joking about shit with my friends.
Life is happening now, be here for it. I don’t have to be watching the Valerie Show all the goddamn time. I can turn off the TV and throw it out the window if I want. I can go outside and go for a fucking walk and choose to live my timeless Midwestern weekends in Austin. At any moment, I can make better choices and return the fuck back to my actual goddamn life.
$7 ribeye?? get me some!!
What a wake up call. Your writing has been getting better, and it shows. Power to you Val.