Time

With the launch of Facebook’s new Timeline and, as time, in the real, non-social-networky world goes on, I’m beginning to realize I have a bit of an obsession with time.  Let’s add the word “time” in here one more time for good measure.  Time.

I'm making it easier and easier for you to find out everything you need to know about your next victim.

I’ve never been the greatest at managing time.  I used to sign up for many extra-curricular activities, (dance, piano lessons, army cadets, sports, improv, taxidermy, etc.)  I was out so often that some of my fondest memories are of my parents and eventually my siblings rushing me from one place to the next.  It was a regular occurrence for the driver to brake especially hard at red lights and stop signs when I was trying to put on my cadet dress uniform over top of my ballet tights in the back of the moving car.

In university, I became a bit better at managing assignments, but not until third year.  I’d had enough of all-nighters because I worked.  I needed to be (somewhat) conscious to up-sell popcorn to miserable suckers.   I began to recognize patterns in the professors’ assignment-schedules, knowing I would be given a certain amount of time to write a certain amount of essays that were all going to be due within the same week so, I’d begin writing them well in advance. By fourth (and fifth) year, I had pretty much managed it.  And if I still couldn’t finish on time, there was always bribery. Sexy, sexy bribery.

I finished school and moved to France and there, time sped up.  It started to feel as though it was going so fast I was spinning. (Note:  it might have been all that wine.)

When I came back state-side, (province-side?) I was obsessed with seeing people; staying in touch with friends I’d made in France and re-connecting with school and work friends – booking and often over-booking myself,   throwing parties at which I would try to combine all of my social circles at once in an attempt to save time and thus, kill several birds with one party-stone.

Who spiked the punch?

It is impossible to combine everything in one.  Comedy in Toronto is helping me to realize this. On any particular night, there are at least a dozen performances I can attend, either as a performer, or (more commonly) a spectator.  I can’t see them all.  I can’t do it all.  And  there are parties.  And there are other meet-ups.  And there are joke-jams.

Then, there are nights in.

Nights. In.

Sometimes they’re the simplest and the most meaningful.

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