Maria Time, a.k.a. No Time!

Jul 4, 2014 by

          I’m exceptionally quirky. I know it and I like it, because I like anything that makes a person different. When I meet new people, I’m made acutely aware of my quirks. People who already know me are used to them, so they’re unfazed when I overanalyze a potential text to the point of writing it on a post-it and passing it around the office for everyone’s approval (which was ultimately not granted #disasteraverted), when I ask nearly everyone I newly meet about their relationship history right after the name exchange (I’m just curious!), or when I request opinions in percentages (which I’ve recently been informed is not normal – what?). New people, however, are sometimes caught a little off-guard. I like that too. Again, I like anything that distinguishes a person from typical. Quirks give character. They make people interesting.

          One quirk of mine that I’ve become particularly aware of since moving back into my parents’ house is my avoidance of time. Olivia used to humour it, but my family humours no one. They have zero consideration for quirkiness, which means they take no precautions against helping me maintain my timeless lifestyle. #rude. Therefore, until I started living with my fam again, I didn’t really notice that, at some point since launching my blog, I’ve developed what psychologists may assess as a fear of time. I assure you that it is not that serious; I just don’t like to know! I unconsciously do little things to avoid the time that have become normal to me: I automatically cover the time display on my phone with my left hand whenever I reach for my cell, I don’t look above the top of text bubbles when iMessaging, my morning alarm (a.k.a. my old cell phone) is set to a later time so I never know the real time when I wake up, I squint when publishing posts so I don’t see the time stamp, and I change the radio station as soon as I get an inkling that they’re about to drop a time bomb.

          Similar to deadlines, time has the potential to make us feel shitty for no reason, so I’ve stopped acknowledging it. This began because I felt guilty for spending hours writing and editing posts. When I finally realized there was no need to feel bad for passing time doing something I enjoyed, I stopped paying attention to how much time I dedicated to activities in general. What I do with my time makes no difference to anyone but me. Time is merely a culturally constructed measure. I don’t have to abide by it. Thus, no-time living has transcended every aspect of my life (except work; I have to look at the time at work, so I know when to get the hell out of there), reducing stress and apparent limitations.

          This is precisely why I’m able to function the day after late nights spent writing or out with friends. Without knowing what time I go to bed, I don’t know for sure how many hours of sleep I’ve had, allowing me to trick my mind into thinking I’ve rested longer than I have. I don’t skip out on things I enjoy from Monday to Friday in order to be in bed by a certain time to get up for the gym and work with ease. Time does not run my life; I run time. I live on my own reconstruction of it, referred to as Maria time, which translates to late nights of happiness minus excuses like having to be up early in the morning. Try it! It’s fucking freeing.

Happiness Tip: Don’t look at the goddamn time!

 
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