Blink and you’re dead.
Don’t turn your back.
Don’t look away.
And don’t blink.
— 10th Doctor, Doctor Who, “Blink”
To this day, I can’t look at angel statues without shivering. They’re the Weeping Angels, one of the creepiest menaces in the New Who, both terrible and undeniably unique.
They change simply by being seen.
From real science, it’s the “the fact that simply observing a situation or phenomenon necessarily changes that phenomenon.” (Source.)
When you see them, they look like normal statues. When you turn away or merely blink, they become these monsters who steal energy and kill.
I think time is kind of like that. Blink, and it’s over. Ten years go by. Blink, and you’re dead. Time goes by in a blink. The window to do whatever grand scheme we have is always closing, little bit by little bit.
When we look, when we pay attention, we see what is happening on a daily basis. But the moment we get too bogged down in the tedium of it, we blink, and we’ve lost more time.
My father warned me that time, and the window that comes with it, goes by faster the older you get. I wish I had believed him.
Oddly enough, it’s not as depressing as I would have thought it would be.
As part of my Best Year Ever, I’ve started thinking about bucket lists and things left undone. It started inadvertently, my finally getting over my fear of writing Tom Robbins, my favorite author. In December, I found an address from a blog that hadn’t been updated in forever, in between the frenzied work of company transition and my father being on a ventilator in ICU. I had forgotten about it, to be frank, and it just fell to the bottom of the heaping things on my many plates.
But then, in the middle of January, I actually received a note in return.
I can’t remember what all had happened that day, just that it was an incredibly shitty day. But waiting in the mailbox for my return was my name written in Tom Robbins’s handwriting. My incredibly shitty day had been terminated, no DNR order on file. It was eight o’clock at night or so, but it was officially the birth of a new day.
And so I did what any good fan-girl would do: squealed a bit. Or a lot.
And then I framed it.
I stared at the typed letter, signed by the man who had led me, like a dirty river to Plato’s cave of linguistic lust, the man who pricked at my subconscious and coaxed me to trade my cow for a handful of magic beans.
I had lost sight of my magic beans. I had forgotten how to dream. Somewhere between work and sleep, I had stopped imagining grand plans. I had stopped planning adventures. I had stopped taking risks. Instead, I held fast to the cow of conformity.
I had blinked. A lot.
Somehow, many of those things I wanted to do and didn’t because of bad timing or bad finances or bad health—all aspects of bad fear, swam back into focus. Those wants had been tamped down, buried under undone work and responsibility and excuses.
It’s difficult recreating the original list, but come to think of it, I don’t know if I had a single list. More likely, my bucket list took the form of half a billion post-it notes, strewn across the years. I found some ideas here.
And so I begin. I am ending my habit of all-too-often blinking to the tune of lost months and years. That tune sounds remarkably like the creepy whistling from Kill Bill.
I hope that I have years and years to create, fulfill, and expand my bucket list. But I’ll always remember it began with this: a nervous wanna-be writer penning a shaking, quaking love letter.
Do you have a bucket list? If not, what have you always wanted to do? What kept you from it?
As for his note, here it is in all its glory:
[Image Credit: 10th Doctor, Doctor Who, BBC found on Blind Inspiration Cast.]
Weeping Angel 1: Creepy Pasta. from Doctor Who, BBC.
Weeping Angel 2: Tardis Wikia from Doctor Who, BBC. ]