Yes yes, going to be hanging out with you this weekend, chair and desk, desk and chair. Doing big things. Big chair and desk things. These things. Us things. Me things. Wait—is that like Me Time? Because if it is, we might have to think about inviting someone over, even if they just watch, or sit (quietly) in the other room. Then it’ll count as We Time, I think (right?), and won’t sound so, I don’t know, stupid.
Me Time. What the fuck is that. These quaint little undefinables to which we brusquely nod assent, taking them at wholesale, stock face value…
I once knew a girl who wanted Me Time, would say that precisely, one of her catch phrases, like a character in a bad sitcom—“I just need some Me Time,” she’d say—and I’d hear it in caps and quotations and wonder what time wasn’t hers. Well, now she’s got plenty, I assume, or at least she doesn’t have my time to worry about anymore. Nor I hers.
So let’s have some We Time, desk and chair and (quiet) stranger and I. We’ll make something of it, better make something of it, before some new Me comes along again and Time turns back into a Thing again, a negotiable, defensible, procurable, nameable Thing again.
Or maybe we’ll be an Us and Time won’t even matter.
M. 
This is funny. I’ve not thought about time in that way before…if now is not, me time, then when is because surely every second I occupy more of this little planet, it’s definitely my time or me time or something or other. Anyway, hello.
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And hello to you, too. Very glad you enjoyed this–thank you for reading. It’s strange the way we’ll parse time out into segments belonging to one thing or another, one person or another, ourselves or another. As if time isn’t just time, whether ours, yours, or mine, irrespective of our little carvings and labelings. But you’re right, I think. The time you occupy is your time, in a way. It just may not be You Time.
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It’s given me food for thought and that can only ever be a good thing. Yet I remember writing a very short poem, ‘time is a thief’ and she is, to a degree. I need to give this topic more thought…see what you’ve gone and done now.
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That’s all I can hope for. Do let me know where those thoughts lead, I’m curious to know. And I’ll look for your poem in the mean time. Curious about that as well. She is surely a thief.
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It was just that, ‘time is a thief,’ nothing more, nothing less. My shortest to date.
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Ah ok. Well, I like it. Makes me think that this time of mine wouldn’t be so prone to thievery if I had a say. Maybe some stolen moments, those would be ok, but not so much outright swindling.
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Stolen moments are priceless. Hang onto them for dear life. They are the things that dreams are made of.
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