Time makes monsters of us all

Especially addicts.

You can’t hurry an ex-addict.

Or, at least, it’s a lot harder than it used to be. In the past, people probably saw me as a shifty clock-watching character. I was always squirming during conversations, or I’d be listening — but with an eye on my phone. When the fuck is my dealer going to get back to me? I’d duck out of family get-togethers at the cottage early, just so I could spend a day or two alone smoking crack. And I always checked the length of a movie before committing to it with my partner. Even so, I spent most of the film counting the minutes until the closing credits.

And let’s talk about my driving.

“Slow down!” my panicked partner would shrill as I barreled down the boulevard, honking at pedestrians to hurry the fuck up and cross the road already.

She didn’t understand how important it was for me to offboard her at HomeSense or Winners or wherever ASAP. So I could make my meetup time with the dealer.

In short, my life was a race from one minute to the next, cursing at clocks and occasionally engaging in the most undignified of public spectacles: sprinting down sidewalks.

And woe to the dealer when he was late. Which happened all the time. I’d chew out that blackguard mercilessly — until he produced his glittering prize. Then I loved him like a brother.

Then time stood still. Recovery took me off the clock in dramatic style. My mom noticed it right away. When she had company in the past, I’d offer polite greetings before fleeing the scene. Nowadays, I sit through the whole visit. Doesn’t matter if it’s a distant relative, my mom’s friend from work or the neighbor. I’m suddenly interested in every last social morsel. Where else do I have to be? And you know what? These people are actually interesting. I want to hold onto these moments.

Indeed, time passes slowly when you’re trying to kill it. But it grows wings when you try to hold it in your hands.

In fact, the only thing that might hurry me along these days is a burning idea. While driving, I might speed up, ever so slightly, fearing that I’ll lose it before I find a pen.

Even then, I know there will be many more ideas. Catch and release.

Because the best part about all this newfound patience? I spend more time in my own head. It’s a quiet place, where thoughts alight at their own pace.