Time Thief

I think I discovered another one of my possible artistic issues- time.

Time makes me anxious. The more I think about it, the more anxious I become. I feel as if the kernels of my life span are disintegrating between my very fingers. It's bizarre; at times I feel as if there isn't enough time in the entire stretch of space to do everything that I want to do. At other times, I feel like I have too much time. Time scares me. Time doesn't stop for anybody. Time doesn't give a shit about you.

It was around 2AM, and I was doing some thinking. I was also on the phone with my boyfriend listening to him tell me all about his childhood.

Unlike my family, his family is extremely close knit. His childhood was what one could call "perfect. He had the sort of childhood where after his soccer games, his father would take him out for ice cream. I'm actually quite jealous of the relationship his family shares (not that I don't appreciate my own). He also had what seemed like endless story after endless story. I thought about what I spent my childhood doing and I couldn't really think of anything of terrible importance.
For that sole reason, I was a bit panicky. I know I had a normal childhood and that I wasn't "robbed" of a childhood, but I feel like I've been in a way, robbed of time.

I talked to my boyfriend about this, and he told me that one shouldn't be afraid of time. That one should instead embrace time with open arms. Life happens in chapters, and each chapter has it benefits and it's down sides. For example, childhood is enjoyable in the aspect that you don't harbor much responsibility but it's annoying in the aspect that you don't have a lot of freedom. Early adulthood does come with responsibility, but it also comes with the added bonus of freedom.

Although he said all that, I still can't help but feel like I need to make up for lost time. That there's something that I constantly didn't fulfill. It makes me anxious....once again.

Grrrrrr.