2002-07-15 - 11:13 p.m.
I've decided that time is one of the most pliable elements in life. It can be measured objectively, of course, but there is no way to have an objective relationship with it.
Walking into work today, I felt like I'd been gone for months. I was so aware of every little thing that had changed, and probably every thing I usually take for granted. Even though I had only been gone for a week, it all seemed different. I am there every day, and have been for years, and yet I felt like a stranger on this Monday morning.
My coworkers, on the other hand, barely responded to my miraculous reappearance. I got a couple of "welcome backs." And a couple of polite inquiries: "Any highlights you'd like to share?" In other words, I don't want to hear all about it, but I thought I'd be nice and ask. And, as all good office workers do, I quickly developed a few appropriate sound bites about my vacation. Yes, I had a good time. No, I'm not glad to be back.
And soon I had slid into the same old groove, giving out the same information, shuffling the same papers. Being nice. And it was as if I had never been gone. How is it that vacation days are so quickly swallowed up by the great gobbling monster of the full time job?
There is an old joke that still gets kicked around in my family: whenever someone makes that statement, "Time flies when you're having fun" the response is always "You can't. They fly at irregular intervals."
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