As always I felt a sudden surging urge to write, in the middle of the afternoon, when I can’t because I have to do the work I am actually paid for. I often think, good, I’ll go home and write. But I never want to write when I get home. Only when I’m, say sitting on a bus, or at work, or in the middle of watching a movie or a play. Some people might say I’m just being lazy, but you could look at my infrequency of writing as a product of bad timing.
I feel like this phenomenon affects many aspects of my life. Trying to take the T–a train is just pulling out as I’m halfway down the stairs, and I have to wait another 10 minutes for the next train. Getting that item at the store that I need or want–Maybe someone just took the last one (like the last time I bought sushi at Whole Foods, and had to get tuna instead of salmon because there was NO SALMON ROLL left). Buying something right before the price is reduced.
Even relationships, that is, actually becoming friends (or more?), depend on timing. And it’s very strange to consider how easily things could have been different.