I was lamenting time’s passage the other day in a Facebook post, about how a person seems to have all the time in the world when he has nothing to look forward to, but the moment you find someone you really like and would love to spend all your time with, somebody upstairs hits the fast forward button and before you know it, your time’s up, she’s gone, and here you sit, with all the time in the world, waiting on her to return.
Not to get all Sunday School on you but I really think God has one of those sardonic senses of humor.
Not that I’m calling God grimly cynical but I enter as evidence the whole duck-billed platypus thing.
That’s someone with a sense of humor.
The time thing is simply irony played out at its finest. It crawls at a snail’s pace from eight in the morning until eight at night, but then during the nighttime hours the time flies like I’m having fun.
Because I am.
Did you ever wonder why it seemed like Christmas took three years to get here, but the whole 24 hours of Christmas Day passed in about twenty minutes?
And the opening presents part; don’t blink or you’ll be sitting there at 7:08 in the morning wondering how you got that plaid shirt, idiot mittens and wool socks.
I’m getting older.
I don’t have a lot of years left, and those years that are remaining are largely sedentary.
One joke that’s made the rounds forever states that “Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer you get to the end the faster it goes.”
I want to slow time down.
I want to hop off Father Time’s runaway train. I don’t want to wish away the day as I don’t mind waiting, but I’d like the rest of the night to proceed at the same snail’s pace.
So, Facebook heard my plea and offered a pop-up ad to possibly rectify my dilemma.
It’s a new kind of watch.
A timepiece called simply, “Slow.”
The teaser on the ad invited me to “Stop wasting minutes and enjoy the hours in a day.”
I thought, I could do that. How do I sign up?
I was then invited to take a sneak peek at this new watch, which retailed at $249.99.
For that price it better make like H.G. Wells and slow down time like it promises.
It did. Sort of.
You have to be careful when you include the qualifying phrase, “Sort of,” at the end of a sentence. “Sort of” can change the whole dynamic of a sentence and throw into question any fact offered for my consideration.
I love you.
There’s no statement more clarified than “I love you.”
It says it all.
You have her heart.
Now, throw in the qualifier, “sort of” to the end of that statement and it changes everything.
I love you.
The Slow watch does exactly as advertised ... Sort of.
You no longer have to worry about wasting minutes because it comes with no minute hand.
Just the short hour hand.
One hand on the clockface.
Twenty-four numbers ranging from 0 to 23.
The lonely hour hand moves SLOWLY around the clockface, making time seem to pass more slowly ... sort of.
I just have no clue how to tell time with it.
“Hey Dan, what time is it?”
I look at my watch and reply, “It’s 13 o’clock... sort of.”
I’ll be easier to tell time using the sun dial at Unity Park.