It is Saturday evening as I write this, meaning that in a mere 36 hours or so, I will be back at work for the first time in several weeks.
I know some of you are saying, “Oh, boo hoo!”
Others are saying, “You were off for several weeks and only managed to post seven blog posts, one of which was a repeat of a post from last year?”
Still others are saying, “Now, who are you again?”
No, I didn’t make my initial statement about having to be back at work on Monday as a cheap ploy to gain sympathy. I merely mentioned it as a springboard for my REAL topic of this post, which is the relative speed of time.
I am not breaking any new ground when I state that time off from work speeds by like runaway freight train on crack (sorry about the mixed simile) and time at work oozes by like a sloth on Quaaludes. (Again, I apologize for the mixed simile … I am really struggling here … like a fly in a spider’s web made of that stuff they use to stick your new credit cards to the paper they mail it to you in.)
So how is it that the past several weeks went by in the blink of an eye, and an equivalent number of days spent at work seems to last longer than a James Joyce novel read aloud by someone eating taffy? (Sorry … sorry! I just can’t seem to stop this.)
Well, I’ll just give you the answer since you already know it anyway.
It’s because I enjoy being off from work. And work is … well … work.
But here’s the really depressing thing. For the past four days, my memories have been popping up on Facebook from 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 10 years ago. And they all said essentially the same thing:
“I can’t believe the holidays are over and it is time to go back to work already. Where did the time go?”
Except for that one memory that popped up that said, “Man, I write similes like a chimp using a bowling ball to cook black-eyed peas.”