And Time Stood Still

I have no less than 8 clocks in my house, not including phones/televisions/unprogrammed VCR's which can also be used in a pinch.

Of these 8 clocks, none of them share the same time.

Right now, half of them don't even work.

The symbolism has not been lost on me. The fact that time is literally standing still at my house seems to reflect quite accurately my feeling that I am stuck, not moving forward, simply standing still.

This was fine while I was just catching my breath. But now I am beginning to feel mired in the mud, like I'm in that bad dream where your legs are heavier than sand and every movement takes an eternity of effort. I am frozen, terrified of making the wrong choice, of being unable to undo what might be a mammoth mistake.

And so I do nothing.

While my mind makes giant leaps in every direction, changing almost daily, my feet remain rooted to the spot. And yet that in itself is a decision, isn't it? Doing nothing is never just doing nothing. It's acceptance, a choice that will affect later choices, that limits future options as much as doing something.

I tell myself that it doesn't really matter, what is six months one way or another? What difference does a year really make?

And yet I know, all to well, that lives can change in a single instant, that time is precious, that nothing ever, ever stays the same.

Tomorrow, I'm going to buy some batteries -- and perhaps, in getting my clocks moving again, I can somehow find a way to get myself unstuck.