Sidebar of explanation:

This site refuses to follow the chronological order of most weblogs. Neither does this site purport to be a blog per se. This site is a web  expression, a bex, perhaps. Don't think that will catch on.

This may be the only page that notes the date and time of creation.

Time has not been my friend. Hasn't been since childhood, I suspect, when the responsibilities were few and I could spend as long as I wanted building and rebuilding the same spaceship out of legos or writing stories without conclusion or playing checkers with my stuff tiger and koala.

Bedtime I suppose was a restriction. But I found ways to stretch and break that.

Time isn't as forgiving as an adult. It marches on, as they say. It carries the constant message of "not fast enough" and "should have more done (by now)". It is not a friend.

There was a time when time was an enemy of a different sort, when it could not pass fast enough. When life was excruciating and I envied the old and dying. What could rush me to the end? Good or bad, it will be over. Like when it's time to turn in a paper for school, perhaps. Did my best, now I can relax.

But in those times I didn't want to relax, I just wanted to end. I wanted existence to cease. It did not.

These times I may talk about more. Time will tell; it always does.