Time is torture.
It goes by too fast. It goes by too slow. I have too much time. I don't have enough time. I think about how I will utilize the time ahead. I ponder and regret the time I have wasted in the past. I think about how time was different in 1984. When time was my own. Now, time is shared with work and girlfriends and pets and school and words and music and beers and TV and the planes flying overhead and the traffic gridlock I sit in twice daily.
Time is torture.
What would happen if we were allowed to take a half-hour weekly or monthly and do with it what we want. And that time would not be counted in the 24 hours of a day. It would not count as a half-hour closer to death.
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