When you lose focus, days have this tendency to slip. They get hurried, they get clumsy, and they just slip right on by. Awkward at first– like they know they’re doing something they’re not supposed to and they’re afraid of getting caught.
Then the days get sneaky. They know what they’re doing to you and they like it. And you’re so numb that you think you like it too. They just keep slipping by, putting you in a trance so that you don’t notice.
Then the days get bored. They’re so good at slipping by now that they have to think about it– and neither do you. It’s routine.
One after another, after another, after another. Faster and faster until you can’t even count how many have passed. A blur swooshing by. They aren’t slipping anymore, and they’re definitely not clumsy. They’re cunning and quick.
Then, one day decides to be rebellious; it slows down just for a second. Just long enough for the swirling fog in your head to begin to dissipate. You can see the day, but just for a moment. You reach out, but before you can grab hold of anything, the day speeds back into motion so fast that you can feel the wind blow across your face in its wake. You lose light of your clarity and let the days continue to slip by.
Then, in a moment of strength, you decide to stop the day. You grab it firmly in both hands and make everything stop. As you hold on tight, the fog clears and you can finally see all of the days you have lost. You scold the days for getting clumsy in the first place, and you groan at yourself for getting so complacent.
Taking a deep breath in, you set the day firmly on the ground and take a step.
Now you walk solidly through the days– they don’t get to run by you anymore.