“You see,” she begins “mind time isn’t clock time. They are two different things. They flow at varying rates.”
I don’t get it. She’s a smart ass. I get that. But she’s cute. I stay. I sigh. I sip. I listen to the rest of her lecture.
“You’re sitting here thinking about all your important things. All the things you have to get done. Even when you’re not doing them.”
“So what?” I’m irritated.
She cocks her head. Slightly. It twitches. I think.
“What’s the point?” she asks.
“What point? The point of what? What the hell are you even saying?” I’m getting worked up over this cryptic nonsense.
“You’re halfway through your life, maybe more, and you’re still wasting your moments. Haven’t you learned anything?”
I don’t answer. I think I’m annoyed.
“You are thinking about things you aren’t doing. You are pondering your jobs and tasks and chores. You’re squandering one moment after another.”
“I’m wasting my moments?” I’m upset.
“You are wasting your mind time to worry about your clock time. You’re getting older. Your moments are getting shorter and you’re filling them with worthless garbage. You are an idiot.”
“Fuck you!” I shout. I’ve had enough.
“Fuck you!” She retaliates immediately, before my insult has even left my mouth.
I’m dumbfounded, at a loss for a response. And I’m angry. Her bluntness pisses me of. I don’t know what she means. I’m not following. My brain doesn’t comprehend. But my gut agrees. What is this? My heart is beating faster. I’m annoyed at myself. At myself!