Of Time And Rabbits

Hey buddy, to you have a time?  A time to sit down and visit.  A time to reminisce.   A time to say hello, or goodbye.  Have a time on me.  Like the time you went to the ice cream store, or the time you fell off the bike. 

Sometimes a time is one you know you will remember even at the time.  And when you remember that time, you will also remember that you knew you would remember at the time.   Time and memory interact and compress as you get older.  All the times you had a time and all the remembers you remember accumulate and fill a part of your mind that you bother to use occasionally.  And that of the gray matter that remains active compresses time further, making it seem to go faster as the years progress and the times accumulate.

Who does not have a time?  Who does not want a time?  Wouldn’t everyone? 

The addiction tugs at his core.  His dreams fill with the visions of comfort.  He yearns for the high.  Sure he can walk away, but his geography keeps him locked in.  If only he lived where there was no temptation he could be successful in other things.  But then who cares, he is a successful addict.  That is enough for him.  Time is a measured thing.  Memories are shattered and viewed in pieces and shards.  A sacrifice he must make to serve the addiction.  Time is measured between hits.  Get a hit, wait half hour, start thinking about the next hit.  Now that is success.

 ‘The business changed’, he said.  ‘When I could work one on one with the Customer, face to face, I liked that.  But it changed and I lost touch with the people I as doing the work for.  In fact the work itself changed.’  His leathery features and drawn long face belied the years of work with VOC’s, volatile organic compounds.  The silicas in body fillers filled his exposed hands over the years, and fore arms.  Now he sheds skin continuously, with sores developing and the constant reoccurrence of infection.  The VOC’s have ravaged his lungs, eyes and sinuses.  Yet he staggers on, now in his late 60’s, dad in his 90’s, runs in the family. Watching him from a table on the side, the man gave him a gentle smile.  For all his skill, labor and sacrifice, the thing remembered most was working with the Customer.  Now this is a real American the man thought to himself.

Rabbits generally do not live well.  Hutches are holes in the ground.  They are reduced to eating weeds and low hanging stuff.  Their position on the food chain is not to be envied. 

You can’t teach a rabbit to box, or carry a gun.  No rabbit will ever pitch in the major leagues.  You can elect one to office.  You can keep them like a dog I am told.