I have no idea anymore

Where does the time go? In my BBS days, there was one particular board I frequented where the sysop would constantly pull me into chat(a sometimes annoying power), and we'd end up having these rambling arguments — actually more like contest in not losing an argument, whether you're right or not — about stuff and things and junk(apologies to the Sturtle), and this very topic was one of them. We covered just about every possible angle we could including a circular timeline, and the possibility that time was more like some sort of river that might reach an ending point and just back up on itself. It was pretty stupid. The guy logged all of it. I sometimes wish I could find him again and that he still somehow had those logs.

In The Dance of Life, which I still haven't read all the way through, but now that I've peeked in it again I've found my gorgeous old Lady Moon Spider bookmark, I seem to remember there being a bit of an explanation for the cliche "Time flies when you're having fun." Something having to do with the length of time perceived by children on a playground who were running around compared to the perception of those who were more sedentary. As expected, the kids who were more active felt like time had passed more quickly. This is contrary to the so-called Twin Paradox, though. Then again, space travel over the distances involved in the paradox would likely be pretty damn boring. And wouldn't it be freaky if the lazy little bastards were suddenly geriatric at the end of recess?

So anyway, I've been running, yes. I have not, however been having fun, and still, I don't have much of an idea what's happened to the last several weeks. I haven't picked up my book in a long time. Don't even take it to work with me anymore. I've had absolutely no motivation to do much of anything. I've turned into one of those machines that goes to work before the sun's up, then goes home, sometimes remembers to eat, then goes to work again, and I'm rather tired of it. Actually, I'm just rather tired. Enough that it's just become the norm, and I don't know when I really am anymore. I just sit still for too long, and then PK wakes me up four hours later. Sleep, as always, is the enemy. That, and the necessity of framing my life in someone else's schedules.

I once put forth the effort to work out a way to place myself on a different time schedule, with a day comprising 27hours, if I remember correctly, and went so far as to make it fit around my classes. This could work, because in college towns, there are actually things to do at three in the morning. There were graphs involved and everything. It was kind of sad. This was also a period where sleep deprivation had made me almost non-functional, and I wasn't really going to classes anyway. Then finals started, and I don't remember much after, though I do know I never did actually go through with it, which is too bad because I was always curious whether it would work out for me. I've never been comfortable with the generally accepted 24hour day. Maybe all clock faces are wrong... For some people, at least.

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