I fly home in exactly one month.
I’m not going to say, “it feels like yesterday I was watching central London prep for their Olympics!” I’m not going to say that because it’s cliche and it’s stupid.
I also won’t say that because “yesterday” would allow too much time in between. Listen, it’s more like this: I was in London this morning and I walked to Russia, to Petersburg, to arrive promptly at 6 pm.
I made it for dinner, but today I only asked for soup because I had fish n’ chips, Dutch cheese, Swedish caviar, an expensive croissant from Copenhagen’s airport, bratwurst in Salzburg, every fucking thing in Budapest, Transylvanian gulash, more Hungarian food, pierogi in Krakow, Chernobyl borsht, more pierogi in Rzeszow, then chicken cutlets in Warsaw for lunch. You understand how I could omit the second course (much to my host mother’s dismay).
As a child, I heard that life is long and moves slowly. We’re like turtles in molasses, some knowledgeable sage once explained to me. And as a child, I believed them. I didn’t know what to do with that information, but I accepted it as truth.
But this sage has been demoted to village idiot. It is clear that we most resemble cheetahs chasing antelopes, or massless particles in a vacuum.
Indeed, now I’m considering which velocity is greater: light or time?