Here in Beijing they are seeding the clouds, hoping for rain to chase away the desert blown dust. It’s sunday morning after one of the most exhausting weeks of my life and although I have a shitload of work to do today, I needed some time away from it all.
I have a boyfriend with a broken collarbone, two neglected blogs, hundreds of unread rss feeds and I have not yet wished my mother happy mother’s day.
What was it that a friend once said? ‘Why do people ask me if I get upset about wasting one whole day? Tomorrow will come and there will be more time.’
I wish I felt that way right now, as if I had an abundance of time, a whole limpid sea of it, to scoop up and throw to the winds in pleasure, rather than time to be measured out by the teaspoonful, consumed carefully and usefully.
I desire time to waste. I wish to live not within the confines of a monday to sunday. I wish to say like my friend: who cares if I did not do anything today? Tomorrow will come and there will be more time.
