It is said that time speeds up as we get older, but I came to realise having spent so long fixating if it wasn’t Monday or Friday; time off, longing not to be at work—the dread of work! that the significance of the beginning and end of the working week became about equal, and that all this wishing time away had simply been granted. I began to feel the absurdity of this desire for one day over another whilst ever eager for that very thing as time went by all the same, regardless of thought or action or any ache to be in one place over another, and that perhaps the best thing about life is the speed in which it passes. Even the memory does its best to forget.

© 2022 PM BROWNE