Time is weird.
Why is it that when we want Time to go fast, he tends to slow down? Almost like he's saying, "Look, I can only do so much, and I can't please everyone!"
But then, when we want him to slow down, he overworks, overtime, much too fast? Yet, it's all the same. 24 hours. 1,440 minutes. 86,400 seconds everyday. It's a weird concept to me. Just plain weird.
On Memorial Day, Time hit me hard. He reminded me how much I need to do. And he forced my mind recall how much time I possibly have before I will see them again. And looking down at each of their designated spot in the ground, I could almost feel him say, "Life is shorter than you will ever realize."
Yesterday, Time hit me hard. I have an unknown amount of it.
He likes to tease me.
(It's no fun realizing that when you want to visit your family, you have to go to the cemetery...)
I realized that I was secretly angry. Angry that…