Time and things

I had an ugly dream. A terrifying one. And as expected, I couldn't sleep anymore. And choosing between "staring at the light that comes through my window" and "write", I'd rather write. That's what it's all about. About the time to write.

The thing is, that I started to think about time. About my time. And in those things that have their own specified time: time to drink coffee, to look at the mirror, to look at people passing by outside my window, to watch telly, to hang out with friends. Time is something that is irremediably ours. And those things that makes us happy, that allow us to fulfill our dreams, kiss sadness or anger away, or that deep anguish, indifference, doubt, idleness, are the ones that deserve that time. To die is to say that we had time and that we don't have it anymore. Time is our misfortune, is true, but it's also the tool to make a revolution, to accomplish the mission that each one of us has here, in this world.

I for one, don't have much of my time. Because I have a long list of different things that are completely compulsory: going to the supermarket, pay the bills, clean my room. Or working at a bar from 10 pm to 6 am. And sleep and recover energies for a new long late shift. I guess that from there originates my need to use my unconscious time. Thing that I am not achieving yet, but led me to think that I, working at a bar and sleeping when the rest of the city is awake, have another timing. And I need to use it in a different way, organize it depending on the weather or the traffic, my mood or whatever you can think of. Anyway. It is my time. The hours for me have a different value: for 8 hours I am immersed in another time, that although it is the right one, it is super edited to the other people's time. It is not my real time. Is the one that belongs to the kid that wants to drink for less money, or to the girl that wants to find a boyfriend, or to the group of lads that want to party. Their time absorbs mine for a while, leaving me empty at times. Leaving me quiet. And you really have to fight against the lethargy so you don't get used to living with the other people's timing. That is why, now, when I should be asleep -because is Sunday and I have my day off- I'm awake doing one of the things that I do when I have my time: write. My favourite hours are the ones that most of the people don't use, and in this loneliness, in this time, with my name and surname, I shelter myself.

There isn't just one reality and this is a weapon that can boost and boost our relation with the world and the way that we interact in it. Because now I am here, and I can see outside my window the garbage collector, a dog barking very loud and the house behind mine with the lights on. And I, live it and write about it. Even when they don't know it. And perhaps tomorrow, somebody will watch me going to the corner shop, and then somebody else will do the same with me. And the time and reality chain won't stop.

My time is like a door to freedom. Or perhaps freedom itself. And you don't know how happy makes me to think about it.