"Repent, Harlequin!" said the Ticktockman

So I've been staring at this for awhile. Haven't written anything, until now. But what to write? More on how job searching sucks? How when you upload your resume to a company they don't show you until after you submitted it that they chose to ignore all your formatting and make it a jumbled cluster fuck? (Though I have to imagine that when they actually look at it they download the file...but who knows.) Perhaps I should write about the futility of man and the human condition. Nobody wants to read that. And if you do too bad, because I don't want to write it.

I did apply to some space jobs. And I will apply to more yet. And more after that. Until, until...until...until I get one I guess.

The problem, as I see it, is that there are just not enough hours in the day. Even I (believe it or not) need to sleep from time to time. I find it incredibly annoying, but have come to accept it as an inevitably of the futility of the human condition. If only I didn't have to. I am going to start an online petition to extend days by 12 hours. The work day would have to be 9 hours, but now there are 12 extra hours in the day with which to get things done. This would have economic benefits as well. An entire shift of jobs would be created. Manufacturing production would increase because now there are 12 extra hours each day to produce things. Consumer consumption would increase because now there are 12 extra hours each day to consume things.

Let's be honest though, it would get squandered. Rather than make use of those 12 hours we would just sit on the couch and stare at reruns of SVU and NCIS as the hours tick by and the cuckoo clock cucs another koo. And then we would all come up with that cliched expression, "Holy hell, it's [x] o'clock already? What the hell have I done today?" I hate when people say that. I hate it even more when I say that. Which is all the time.

I have a bizarre obsession with time, though I am rarely on it. I find it difficult not to wear a watch. Not just because, for so long, I got used to having one on my wrist, but more that I don't know what time it is. I don't particularly care what time it is, I just feel compelled to know. This is often misunderstood as a desire to end whatever activity as quickly as possible. While this is often true it is equally as often not. I fully intend on being late to my own funeral. Though that will more than likely be because of bad weather conditions forcing The Knut to delay the launch. He might not though, he might not care. Then again, I see him as caring, not because he wants to launch me into space, but because he doesn't want anyone to say he failed to properly launch a rocket. The Pietras would probably care for the same reason. Toby wouldn't though. Because Toby is a cat. And cat's do not care about space. Cat's cannot comprehend space. Cat's cannot comprehend "outside." They are cats. They comprehend food. And sleep.

The Old Ones eat time. It will not matter then.