Thank God, Its Friday...But Does It Matter!

Time is still. Inert. Stuck. Yet, I look back, and half the year has gone by. I look back, and one third of this month has slipped by. I look back, and three-fourths of this day has knocked off. But that is the conventional measure. Time is not about the fine divisions of seconds, minutes, hours, days or months. That is wrong. My time has stopped. Like my wrist watch, that fell and cracked and grins hideously from its bright yellow but stained and strained face. The arms are paralyzed; the heartbeat stopped; the wrinkles marked.

It is a dull day. A boring day. A useless day. A pathetic day. A hot day. A silent day. A Friday.