In My Own Good Time By Ruth Starr It’s a daring escapade! This is a biggie, even for me who has always been involved in ventures.The script was written in my minds eye for years. My pilgrimages begin with a bright dream and a hunger to ascend above the ordinary. The tapes of my thoughts spun on the reels of my brain. There could be no turning back. Each moment is fraught with suspense. The excitement and anticipation made my gut tremble. I looked out at the lake. How I love the lake. Ah, change, yes, life would take on a new dimension. Throughout life I’ve had to deal with safe fantasies and stark realities. Realities - therein lies the challenge of life itself. This new undertaking was another test of a method I had contrived. My heart listened to the sounds of hope. Because of my idea, people would change. “if I only had more time, I could do some of the things I want”. I allowed myself the pleasure of drifting into a dreamlike state. I could observe myself as part of this unfolding drama. My nerves felt like the coatings had been removed. They are raw and exposed. I want to run. I always want to run when I’m scared. I sucked in a few deep breaths and let my confidence restore itself. All those charged forces are tell me, go! I start the car, tune in the radio, let down the canvas roof and press the gas pedal firmly. My eyes hit the seat next to me to be sure “it” is there. I adjust my glasses. What a mundane thing to do on the verge of greatness. Life could be so tedious and predictable or absurd and spontaneous. I drive slowly, feelin’ good all over. Just another summer day, I mused. My foot hits the brake then into neutral and I leave the motor idling. I’m parked across from the bank. I suck in more deep breaths and reach for the shotgun from the seat. I aim carefully, as I have been taught in practice sessions. In a single piercing blast, I shoot out the huge digital clock on the outside of the bank. After the last piece of glass lay splattered on the ground, everything is very still for a moment. Then pandemonium. Bank officials run to the street and gaze helplessly at the impotent works above them. Everyone is running to the center of town. That Clock! That magnificent tribute to human technology, I wished I could set a special device that interfered with the working of all the other clocks. The phone company has co-operated in my venture by not offering “time” anymore. I’ll send a note of thanks with next phone bill. A tranquil feeling settles throughout my being. How good it feels. My life has been organized, adjusted, and destined by clocks, those time eating menaces. Now I made the monumental decision that life could be lived by our internal clocks. They are a more reliable and comforting source of how we choose to spend our transience. The gathering crowd had a variety of looks on their faces. Some were amused, some were angry, and some just stood there with their mouths agape. Many were pointing at me. The newscaster from the local radio station ran the two blocks from the station carrying a portable microphone and transmitter so he could do a live report. “Wow, lady, why did you do this?” “Isn’t it a charming day, let’s go celebrate. I don’t have time for an interview.”
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