Time's Table

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, the clock says. I can't ignore it. I can't escape it. I can't function without it.

Father time has been with us since we were born. The hour, the day, the month, and the year were all recorded by him. And in the inevitable future, the hour, the day, the month, and the year of our death will all be recorded by him.

Although he's old, he's quite the runner. Often so fast that I get left behind. If only I could keep up, then I wouldn't be late. If only I had his time management, then I wouldn't miss out on anything. But I don't.

It seems as though we spend our whole lives trying to please him and master his schedule. We are slaves, wearing his numbers on our bodies. These numbers change, causing us to check and recheck our status. He keeps good watch on us, each area in a different zone.

He even adjusts his schedule twice a year to keep us on our toes. Does this daylights savings time really help us? Maybe its all a big lie, an advertising angle thought up by Mr. Time to confuse and control.

I had dinner with Father Time the other night, of course at his table. The oven timer sounded and dinner was served. After seconds were eaten and my stomach was full, we spoke of times past, memories, and the future. He didn't say much, mostly listened, then pulled out the present.

The alarm then sounded, it was time to get up. The sun had risen and life had begun, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.