As I shift, so does my clock. If only I could make it stop. Catch that dragon’s tail. Catch my breath.
Why can’t time ebb and flow with the currents that carry us through life? Does it not? Do those empty, still days not stretch into seeming forevers? Then, in frenetic furies, days fly by like blinks?
Yes. Perhaps it is the inverse that I seek. Perhaps it has always been me backwards. I tried to shove this squishy round ball into a tiny square frame. And, it contorted. Bulging over the straight sharp edges like a “muffin top”. NOT attractive, at best. Bloody uncomfortable for the duration. And, inevitably inducing internal occlusions. Identity aneurysms. Herniated hopes.
Well, that frame collapsed under the strain. The ball is regaining shape. A perfect circle it will never be. And, the more level the path, the more wiggle there will be in its wobble. Like the tide and time, it will never, however, stop rolling.
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