Thursday, April 26, 2012
W is for Wasting Time
Writing a novel that might never be published, that no one may ever read. Starting another one.
Jumping on my parents trampoline. Taking my seven year old sister on our usual date: movie, In'n'Out and a stint at Barnes and Noble with the only other person I know who wants to stay as long as I do.
Staying up until two, okay three in the morning, kettle corn and peach Fresca on my nightstand, catching up on Downton Abbey or Sherlock or Person of Interest because I Just. Have. To. Know. I have found myself alone in the middle of the night watching Vertigo or The Notebook, neither of which is probably a good idea for an alone at night movie. I cried. A waste of time.
Sitting at my window, late at night again, listening to John Coltrane and watching the moon and cars go by.
This blog post. Watching John Green YouTube videos. Playing on Pinterest.
Auditioning for plays I probably won't get cast in.
Watching Chopped with my mom until one in the morning. A bowl of fruity pebbles with my brothers before bed.
Looking for jobs. Aren't all jobs a waste of time? What about teaching at my old school? Coming in to the classroom at lunch where the little boy in the Cars sweatshirt shouts "Sarah bearah!" sounding more like "Thawa beewa!"
Who was the first to say time is a thing that can be wasted? If I watch Frasier and write never-published poetry while you go on dates or to business meetings does that make my time more wasted--less valuable--than yours?
That's the thing about it all. Eating churros and funnel cake while saving spots for Fantasmic on the cobblestone streets of Disneyland. Buying five-dollar movies at Walmart, watching the Biography channel documentaries of Johnny Depp and Andre the Giant. Reading novels.
It's all a waste of time.