Staring at the Clock

Staring at the clock I feel overwhelmed. Perhaps that isn’t the right word, or rather not the right phrasing. Staring into the face of the clock, a traditional one at that, I feel an overwhelming flood of indescribable feelings. To label the display of a clock as its face has always been an interesting thing to me, a random naming choice that's possessed my mind. A face.

 It suggests I am staring Time in its eyes. Despising its jarring patience as it hesitantly glides across its circular surface. Begging time to move faster, or slower, wishing to warp its free will to my own selfish desires. Can Time possess free will? If it possesses a face, wouldn’t a degree of sentience be allotted as well? Animals, as far as I’m concerned, have a conscience to match their faces. Fish perhaps have one. Plants, despite their bland exterior, harber the most complex thoughts of any organism. 

 So back to the question at hand. Why am I overwhelmed by Times patient accession? Or descent, as it only repeats itself. Is time a crescendo, or a final epilogue? Too many follow-up questions are being asked, you’re thinking. Or are you? Who are you?

 Staring at the clock I feel overwhelmed. I have no more time on my hands. I say this not to suggest I have failed to meet a crucial deadline, rather to describe the state of stagnation I find myself in. Summer has fallen upon me, and in my great lack of self awareness, I failed to plan for my death. I’ve never been one to love school, that is not to say I hate it. It’s a great constant in my life, one I rely on to bring a sense of dread, enthusiasm, exhaustion, and stimulation. During the summer, I am left to live on my own. I must rely on my body and mind's cooperation, and pray I do not fall victim to thoughts that find themself present far too often. 

 I cannot fathom where I stand in time. I feel far behind, still a part of last month's calendar. I cannot fathom the fullness of June, just as I cannot fathom the scarcity of May. I despise myself for bending time to my will, for constantly hoping for shorter days and a quicker descension into Summer.