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October 5, 2010

There is not enough time. What do I mean? I mean that 24 hours in one day is 1,239,209,239 hours too little. THAT’S what I mean.

I mean that there are so many things that need to be done — and the things that need to be done take precious time away from things that should be done, or things that don’t have to be done but are fun to do.

So where does that leave me? And my time? Well, it leaves us in a very confusing, hurried and tired state.

I’m not making sense, but listen to this, because this just happened: It was 4:17 p.m. Five seconds later it was 4:25 p.m. That’s not how time works! Time is broken — my time is broken. It’s running out too fast. My time is cracked and leaking and I don’t know how to fix it. Time is running low but I need it. I don’t know how to buy myself time — where would I go? Last time I checked, Costco isn’t having any sales on time. I’d ask God, but he’s probably busy, you know? And even though he’s probably got A LOT of time, I don’t think he’s got time for me.

I need time for homework, I need time to read, I need time to study, I need time to talk and walk and bike and eat and play guitar and read comic books and write stories and make jokes and sing and laugh and sleep, too! How do I get time like that? It’s not like I can get a loan or borrow from a friend. There’s no ATM at a time bank that I can walk up to, swipe a card and click, “Withdraw 5 years.” That shit ain’t real.

Will the guy inventing the time machine hurry the hell up? I’ve got things to do — and no time to do ’em!

It’s mostly exasperating to have such a small amount of time. TIME. It’s a weird when you think about it. Say it over and over again — it starts to sound strange. Time is something we want a lot of, but when he have an overwhelming amount of it, we tend to squander it. We waste it away on things like Sporcle, or Facebook, or cell phones or, yes, I’ll say it, blogging.

But we waste it on other things, too. I know I do. I’ve given so much time away to that neurotic bitch called worry — if you add it up, I’ve probably given her years. And what does she do with it? She measures it, adds it up and takes a big old shit on it. At least when I give my time away to stress, I get something out of it — like results. I don’t have time for worry. But she keeps texting me. Needy bitch. I should turn off my cell phone. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

But then how would I know what time it is? And don’t say a clock or a watch. I don’t own one. They’re too depressing.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Gus Hastalis permalink
    October 5, 2010 4:15 pm

    LOOooooooved this one. Needy bitch. Yeah. But clocks or watches should be something other than depressing. Needy?

  2. October 6, 2010 12:19 pm

    I was gonna write a really witty reply to your great post — but I ran out of time….

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