The old joke goes something like this;
“Slow Joe was anxious about meeting his online girlfriend whom he met in a chat room in 1993. They had been talking back and forth for 28 years. Then, she finally suggested they needed to meet in person. It turned out that she only lived a short way away, on the other side of town. So, they agreed that they would both walk to Fast Charlie’s Fast-food Restaurant. Slow Joe wanted to meet Rosemary so badly that he went to his mother’s bedroom and pulled the wall-clock off the wall. Then as he walked towards Fast Charlie’s place, he kept flinging the wall clock ahead of him like a frisbee, walking to pick it up, and flinging it yet again as he slowly ambled up the street.”
“Joe? Why do you keep flinging that broken clock?” I asked.
“I needed to make time fly,” he answered.
“Ironically, he arrived too late for the date.”
What? I didn’t promise it would be a good joke.
This, then, is the irony on the ironing board of my life. I am stuck waiting for things to happen as things take forever to mature and pull themselves together for whatever the future holds. It is another Friday already. I think I must’ve blinked twice, and doing so, missed the previous Saturday, Sunday , Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,, and Thursday. Where did the time go? It must’ve been in that clock that Slow Joe kept flinging.
Time is passing faster than it ever has in my life. And yet, it seems to crawl along at a snail’s pace. Well, maybe Slow Joe’s pace. I have seen snails pass him like relative speed demons on the racetrack of everyday life.
Maybe I don’t have enough to do. And yet, I am working on three books at once, finishing a short story for Ten Bun’s Holiday in a Nudist Park story collection (proceeds going to charity) just yesterday. I have the AeroQuest 4 book that I work on every Tuesday, the Valerie Clarke sequel called He Rose on a Golden Wing, and the sudden science fiction inspiration, Cissy Moonskipper.
I am three books ahead of schedule too on my quest to read and review 45 books this year for Goodreads (most of those also for Pubby.)
There is danger in that. I read mostly fiction books. And we all know that two many lies in one place can warp reality. That would be a tragedy if Mickey reads too much and opens a black hole somewhere inside his stupid old head.
Anyway, that is probably enough musing for now. I probably lost all my readers at the toxic Dad joke at the beginning of this misbegotten blog post. But that gives me the opportunity to say anything at all, even secret things, Nobody is still reading at this point, so no one will read this secret; I actually don’t have any secrets left to tell.
So, that is where I am at now in life. Time is flying by at an alarming pace, yet each day crawls along as slowly as Slow Joe flings clocks.