Holy Hannah And Barbera, this week feels like it just zoomed right by.

Seriously. It feels like I wrote the last Saturday entry yesterday. Maybe the3 day before, tops. This thing where subjective time speeds up as you get older is really the pits. No wonder old people want to slow everything down. I’m only forty, and already I feel like I am always running to catch a bus.

And I know it’s just a trick of memory and consciousness. As we get older, our consciousness of time just keeps on expanding, and so the number of “consciousness units” in a day gets smaller and smaller, especially as recorded in our memory.

These units are the lynchpin of how our minds measure time, and while that works well enough in the short term, it can’t handle our modern world of clocks, artificial lighting, and alarm clocks, and so subjective time and objective time become almost entirely disconnected.

That’s also why boredom makes time go slower, by the way. With so little stimulation, the mind has insufficient input to turn into consciousness unitd, and so it ends up creating them very, very slowly.

It is kind like your mind sets down one concousness of time marker per X amount of stimulation, and the number of markers in a given length of objective time equals our subjective sense of how fast time is going by.

Now enter aging into the equation. When you are young, the world is bright and fresh and new and very stimulating, but you lack the breadth of consciousness to make long consciousness units, so days seem to last forever.

As we get older, our mind expands and the consciousness units get bigger, and we end up feeling like everything goes by so quickly these days.

I am not quite sure that all hangs together, but you get the idea.

I just keep telling myself that no matter how it feels, the day still has

1440 minutes in it and they take just as long while they are happening as they did when I was a little boy.

I need that reassurance, because without it, this ride is just too damn scary.

I am typing this entry on my tablet via my fancy-schmancy Bluetooth keyboard tonight. Now that I am a little more used to it, I feel very writerly sitting here on my bed, glasses on, studiously typing away. Perhaps in the future, this is what our standard view of The Writer Hard At Work will look like. Not the quill pen, the typewriter, or even the word prcocessor any more.

Remember when a word processor was a standalone unit the size of a small TV? I really wanted on of those, back in the day.

Heck, I still kind of want one, even though I have far more logical and pragmatic ways of accomplishing the exact same goal.

Then again, part of me still wants a Speak n’ Spell. I guess some desires neer die, they just get sent to the back files.

Today has been normal for me, which means it has been about as productive as a bee hive with only one bee.

And it’s a drone.

I feel like I am building to something, though. The boredom and dissatisfaction with spending my days like I am waiting for a ride is building every day, andI am hoping that if I tender that tender little flame long enough, it will eventually get big enough to burn through the numbing,soothing cold of my anti-action bias.

And I am getting truly sick and tired of it. And that’s a good thing. It is the kind of unhappiness that brings change, and boy, do I need change.

Preferably a dump truck full of toonies large burlap sacks. Ha ha ha.

I was talking about change with my therapist yesterday, specifically the nesrly perfect folly of wanting the results of change without anything actually changngm because change is scary and hard.

If you are not happy with who you are and want to become a stronger, happier, healthier person, then logically speaking, you want to change who you are.

And yet so many people are miserable in their lives and hate themselves and wish everything was better, and yet violently and vehemently fight any kind of change in themselves or their lives.

They want things to be better without anything changing. In absurdium, one wonders if some of these people would turn down a lottery win if they just didn’t feel up to it that day and couldn’t handle the stress and the hassle of it.

I can say this because I wasted decades of my life as one of those people. Sure, I wanted change in an abstract sense, but the reality of it scared the hell out of it, and I not only refused to do anything to initiate it, I ran away frm it when it happened.

No more. I now accept (some days more than others) that what I want is chan within myself, and that means leaving the crappy but familiar behind and reaching for the superior but unfamiliar and holding it tight until it becomes a part of you, and thus replaces dead tissue with healthy, living flesh and blood.

For the first time in my life, I accept the necessity of transformation. It is only by transformation that we can evolve, and it is only via evolution that we can transcend what we once were and become a better version of ourselves.

Some problems are too big for incremental bug patches to solve.

You need to create a whole new version of yourself. You keep all the features that work, but redesign everything else based on what you know now.

That is the transformation I desire. The transformation I will. The transformation I open myself to.

Because you know what?

I deserve better than this.

There is a better me inside me just waiting to be born.

I think it’s high time we induced labour.