Time

Time is measurable and finite and totally mystifying.

When I am deeply ensconced in a project, hours can pass before I notice.

When I am stuck doing something I would rather not be doing, time stands still.

My sister fell on the ice and broke her wrist. She swears that one second she was stepping off the curb and the next she was on the ground.

I flipped over a set of wooden steps for children in the library. I grabbed for the cart I was using to shelve books and it slid me right into the bookcases where I hit my head as I reached out to catch myself, then I knocked both shins on the handles that flanked the wooden steps and reached out to stop myself again in the hope that I would not fall on my knees to the floor. I missed and cracked the outside edge of my hand so hard I thought it was broken as I tumbled over the little steps and hit the floor with first my right knee and then my left. I landed so hard I couldn't get up and lay there looking up at the glass partition in the upstairs hallway, glad no one was there to see me fall. I knew it was really going to hurt when I rolled over on my knees and tried to pull myself up. But I did it and the whole thing, which felt like a long and protracted event probably took ten seconds.

I felt like I had time to think and contemplate the way I could break the fall, but I really didn't.

Time is relevant. It is a mystery. And apparently it is totally different for different people.