At the start of the afternoon, last Wednesday, I sat down to make an art/junk/poetry journal, the second one ever. I had torn up some packing paper from Amazon and I set out to make the journal.
I did so much, I tore up pieces of magazines, I coloured the background of each page, I punched holes, made mistakes, did it again, fiddled endlessly to get the wire in the holes (given that the paper was all crumpled up didn’t help matters any. Then I looked through my binders and found some art works I could tear up to add to my journal. I sat and pasted stacks of paper into the journal. Oh and I also made some lunch between all that and emptied a pot of tea.
At one moment, busy glueing stuff into the journal, I looked up and checked the time on the clock of our DVR.
It was 3 o’clock.
I blinked. It felt like it should be the end of the afternoon, but the clock said 3, and said the same thing when I pinched my eyes closed and opened them again.
I grabbed my phone, checked the time there. It said, 15:05, very matter-of-factly. I looked down on my journal. It was almost finished. I had worked on it —almost non-stop— for a couple of hours, and it felt like a day.
At that one, bright moment I thought back to something I had written down once, in the first of the lyrics I have ever written.
In my childhood days, time seemed endless.
I started to grin when the lyrics played through my head, and felt as if I had discovered something so big that I would have to write about it. Then I sat down to play some more with my art. I had discovered the endless time again.
The next time I looked up, it was 17:30 and I was finished with my journal. It felt like I had played on it for days.
I knew I had rediscovered something that was very true to me as a child, the days seemed endless, stretched out before me, with all sorts of adventures awaiting me.
I couldn’t help but smile at that, and I made a solemn vow. No matter what awaits me in a day, I need to play, especially if I am not aware of that need. And making the days seem endless, that is an added bonus that makes me smile big even as I write this.