Time marches on
When I first noticed that the seconds of my life had gone missing I wasn’t worried. They had dashed on ahead. I figured they'd be back, but I was wrong. I haven’t seen them since.
Heck, I can barely make out my minutes as they swarm around me like fruit flies with five minutes to mate before they die.
Don't even talk to me about the hours and days. They're so damn full of themselves and caught up in the quotidian details.
The weeks and months? They've never been anything other than middle managers, at best.
It's just me and the years now, with me driving this creaky old Cadillac. I don't remember how I got here, or even when. The fuzzy dice are not mine; I'm telling you that.
I remember a different time when I rode on a Schwinn bike – the kind with a banana seat and high backrest.
The years were skinny as wheat stalks back then. They sat on the handlebars and kept us from moving too fast or in too straight a line.
The weeks and months only mattered during the school year. I didn't miss them when they weren't around.
Except for birthdays and holidays, all the days looked pretty much the same. Just like with the Doublemint twins.
The only hour that counted was sunset when we had to go back in the house for the night.
Back then the minutes were all about food. Should we eat now? Should we have a little snack?
The seconds took care that the baseball cards went flap-flap-flap in the tire spokes.
But that was then. Now, here I am, crammed in next to my years, which have grown fat over the...well, the many orbits of the earth around the sun. They keep looking over at me, my years.
The air freshener in the shape of the Christmas tree isn't mine either.
My years keep giving me this look. I know what it means. The Caddy burns fuel like there’s no tomorrow. “Pull my finger,” I tell the years, and just like that we are all laughing again.
Laughing and driving and generally enjoying the ride.
9:26:18 AM  Random Nonsense
|
