If they called it time, they would call it a hasty name.
it is difficult to know what time it is and to manage the time correctly when you are not even present in space. Ten minutes, twelve, twenty, thirty. Nothing that I finish, nothing that I start.
I spend the day squeezing out every boring moment of time, eating up seconds and wasting hours. Thirty forty fifty. I am standing right where you can contemplate time but not take advantage of it, as if it were displayed in front of me and I could not do anything to stop overflowing. For me the clock has no use except to place me apathetically where it pleases, to do what it wants with me. But for him I am not part of himself and for me, he does not exist.
