There is never a time. Time is just pretend. Time is an excuse. There isn't enough of it, or too much of it, or it's in the way somehow and needs to be chopped up into little cubes, spread out across the counter, and scrambled into the right order
But you know, there isn't an order, because there aren't any cubes.
Time isn't cubes, but time isn't anything, and as such, it's always, always wrong.
6:00 PM and I'm taking the lead.
7:15 PM and I'm discussing contacts and making a mental list.
10:00 PM and I'm running to make a bottle.
10:05 PM I return with the bottle, and he's already asleep.
10:40 PM and the other shouldn't be asleep, he should be up, rushing about and sniffing his work shirt.
Just crunch the numbers until you feel better about it, validated by it, and stand in the cold and smoke for no fucking reason at all.
There's an excuse. It's the time for it.
I think I'd like to forget about everything in my life and relearn it all. Or maybe just know it all already and then slowly forget it. I think I'd like my brain to reorganize, instead of the time.
This is a bust, you know.