I’ve always had a strange relationship with time. I suspect that it’s a massive illusion yet, if it is fake, it’s a clever fakery that eventually murders you. But that’s not the worst thing about it. The ugliest aspect is that, before it kills you, it enslaves you, dictating everything about your life. Even money is just code for time. Mine is worth $6.75 an hour plus tips.
But I have a lot of free time. So, in a sense, I must be wealthy. But there’s no such thing as free time. I pay for it all. That $6.75 buys me hours where I don’t have to sling drinks, wash dishes or deal with the public. The rest of it is on credit.
I love having time, even if it has to be bought, but I hate what time does. It blunts your senses and gives an illusion of having more of it than you do.
We have no time. The Greek word for mortal had a meaning that is poorly translated but comes across as “dead when you’re born.” That’s how short life is. We’re born dead, yet here we are.
It’s a fucking farce.
