I’ve written quite a bit about time. But, outside of my writings I don’t think I really think about time that much. Unless I’m in class, at work, or trying to fall asleep. Time for me is another one of those weird constructs that I don’t really know how to interact with. As a semi-active member of society, my life revolves around a time schedule, and I hate it. But I love it? I hate being late, but who are you to tell me how to live my life? What happened to the days of just setting things to the position of the sun? Nothing is that simple anymore. As a college student I’m often left down to the last second in a minute in an hour in a day to get something done, and that is ridiculous. I’m so tired of time defining my life, already. I’m maybe a quarter through my life, but even that is a time constraint. What the hell do I do with that? How can I sit so idly for the next years of my life, knowing that my time is running out, and I’m sitting here wasting time in between classes and being miserable for the next two years? And however many years after that? More existential crisis material. Let me know your thoughts. I’d love to hear them!
Signing off, a frustrated college student.