Time. Be gone. Farewell.

I’m occupied. Every day. With something. That means I’m alive and with it. I sort of lose track of time. Which is good. Suddenly, I look at my watch. It’s late. But does it really matter? No. That’s a nice thing about my life. My time has become my own time. It doesn’t belong to anyone else. Especially when I am alone. Doing as I please. I am free. I’ve wanted to live outside of time. And maybe the closest I can come is to lose track of time. Maybe I should throw away my watch. Yes, and get rid of my clocks. Any reminder of time. Be gone. Farewell. --Jim Broede