Time. like a twitch.

Time is a constant shift when there is an ‘old folk’ in the house. flanked against the fast paced rush of the working adult, Time is not only different in its form as ‘matter’, but also in its spatial estrangement: each from the other. it exists as two separate entities for both individuals. one nestles within the lull of each minute, each moment. in thought. in wonder. amidst questions. of whys and what ifs. awaiting the intervals of meals. breakfast. lunch. tea. dinner. supper. the intervals of medication. before each meal. after each meal. white tablets. blue. plastic coated colors. to-be-quickly-swallowed ‘raw’ pills that cling to dry throats. is it painful to swallow so many, all the time? or has it become just another part of a routine. like plucking eyebrows. shaving. bikini wax. Time is also spent, un-spent. sleep becomes a needy companion. the bed. a comfy overture to the grave. why so morbid? well, isn’t it? the working adult, battles with Time. against it. alongside it. deadlines. dead-lines. they appear on the face, skin. termed ‘wrinkles’. there are creams for them. a multi-million industry. Time boxes up activities and days. lunchtime. weekends. planners. dates. pay day. a slave to time. watches. alarms. sleep is shortened to accommodate more time, more work. more. the light bulb. an invention created to conspire with Time, to extend it. faux daylight. more day. more time. less time.

and then there is the liminal being. suspended in the space where she is expected to conform to the rush of the adult Time. and yet, she wanders with the free-floating Time of the old. lulling. each moment. in thought. in wonder. what an anomaly. she needs an alarm clock. wake her up to reality. yes. but perhaps, at another time.