Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, not slowly either, but with ropes of steam and spark-spattered wheels and a hoarse roar of power or terror. It’s passing, yet it’s a paradoxical feeling that I’m the one who’s doing all the moving. Yes, time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires.
It’s also an ironical and a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.
Life’s become quicker than usual. Very pacy. Very unnerving at times. Very dramatic. Very unforgiving. Time is what we want most, but… what we use worst.
Though it’s a good feeling to know that time is an equal opportunity employer. Each human being has exactly the same number of hours and minutes every day. Rich people can’t buy more hours. Scientists can’t invent new minutes. And you can’t save time to spend it on another day. Even so, time is amazingly fair and forgiving. No matter how much time you’ve wasted in the past, you still have an entire tomorrow.
