At a Snail's Pace
Have you ever wanted time to speed up only to find it doing the opposite? Like when you really need to get to work or class, but traffic is horrible and time just seems to drag on, while at the same time passing normally? Or when you just want to go home and unload the groceries so that you can sit on the couch and veg out, but you’re stuck in the checkout line? Well, today, right now that’s me.
I’m sitting in class hearing words spew from my professor’s mouth and the phrase “in one ear and out the other” has never been so accurate. All I can think about is running out the doors like the building is on fire – but without the hazards of other stampeding people. Then again, this is college and a lot of classes got out at the same time… But I’ll worry about that when I get there – whenever that’ll be.
My knee bounces agitatedly under my desk and it takes all of my mental power to stop it. I have a pet peeve about nervous bouncing knees. I usually can’t handle it when someone sitting near me has nervous knees. The vibrations through the floors, seats, and tables is just too much to handle. Therefore, when I find my own knees having nervous break downs, I try to keep them under control and bounce-less. Of course, this leads to the nervousness traveling to various other parts of my body such as fingers and hands – commence clicking of pen now. And then I try to calm those fidgety body parts. So basically, I bottle it all up, and said jar explodes into a burst of energy when I do start running down the halls as fast as possible. Let’s hope no one yells at me and I don’t knock anyone over this time.
But for now I’m still stuck in class as the hands of the clock move through annoyingly thick molasses. My other knee starts bobbing uncontrollably and I have to press the soles of my shoes deep into the floors to get it to stop. My pen starts clicking and I resort to feverishly flicking it between my index and thump. At lease that’s noiseless – that is, as long as I hold it high enough above the desk.
Seconds morph into minutes and minutes into hours. All sound and movement is filtered through water, as if our classroom is at the bottom of a pool. Even the light floating through the windows refracts as if through water. I check my phone for the umteenth time. It hasn’t even been two minutes since I last checked. Not that I didn’t know that. I’ve been watching the clock on the wall this entire time, transfixed by the excruciatingly slow pace at which time has decided to travel. Days later, class finally ends and I’m thankful that I recorded the whole thing, because I don’t remember even a single word of it as I sprint down the halls before time suspends once more.