When I say "time," I don't mean personal, day-to-day time. I've said this before, but I can't ever believe I was bored when I was a kid. I have way too much to do these days, I can't imagine lying around on my bed after dinner, homework finished, not tired, feeling too lazy to turn the lights on when the sun went down, just bored out of my fucking skull. But I know that happened a lot.
No, what I mean about time here is this: we moved to Portland in May, roughly four months ago. But if you'd ask me how long we've lived here, I think I might say, "A year? Two? Maybe three?"
Some weeks seem to go by fast, but sometimes I think, when I arrive at a radio station, I think, "Has it been a month since I've been here?" When it's often been just a couple of days.
A couple of things have contributed to this recently. I was pretty sick for three or four days, er, was it three weeks ago? (Or maybe last summer?) That screwed up time somewhat. The other is that one of our pups isn't well, & it's been a lot of stress.
This seems to suggest that illness has screwed up time, but it's not just that: both the wife & I have had expectations foiled & realized. It's strange to take stock, to ask oneself where one would have predicted to be in a month or two. I can't believe, for example, I've done shows on three different radio stations in the past few months. I've gone on about this before, but you have to understand: there were virtually no opportunities in Dallas for radio. This place is one opportunity after another.
& now the wife has gone away to visit her family in California for a week, & I am left to my own obviously screwed-up devices. You know how there are those clocks that are somewhat tuned to an atomic clock somewhere, so they don't lose a second but after a million years? If someone could set a clock to me, it would probably confuse the hell out of the clock connected to the atomic one.
It might not be Portland, I understand: it might just be me.
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