I've been thinking a lot about this commonly touted phrase recently, in the light of how steadily rapid and consonant the holidays are racing pass.
The drama production is just around the corner with next week being a fledge full of tech-runs, full-dress rehearsals, and of course the actual performances; the climbing competition will occur simultaneously next weekend (and I yet feel inadequately prepared - as though we had left some aspect of preparation/planning out). The following week will see my disappearance from this claustrophobic isle and when I return, it is time yet again to celebrate everyone's favourite holiday (and feel and warm and fuzzy!). And thereafter, it is back to the rat-race.
Strange how man is motivated, constrained, enwrapped, suffocated, and dictated by time: we must accomplish this many tasks in this period of time or feel inadeqaute and insufficient. Yet it is man who has created time, its seconds, minutes and hours, days, months and years. It is we who have coined the notion of a millenium and yet feel paranoid and fearful of the end of days. Yet, how do we know exactly when the world began and by whose timeline or sundial do we determine when (and why) the world might possibly end? How can something so amorphous and fluid be encapsulated in precision. Ironically, we measure the precision of so many things around us by time - the speed of a runner, the flight distance in hours, the ageing of a person. But I constantly wonder if time was meant to be of such 'clockwork' precision (forgive the pun).
That said, it is quite impossible to live wihout the minutes and the seconds. The world, its systems, institutions and funtionality is based precisely on something that is imprecise - an ironic contra-reversed, circular and predatorious relationship man has to time.
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