Time doesn't exist. It's fiction. We measure it out in one earth revolution around the sun. Why do we do that? Because it explains age. That's all. It's a mathematical breakdown of symbols representing absolutely nothing. And this nothingness we call minutes, and seconds, and hours, and years. All in all it is the measure of a lifetime. My Grandfather made 98 trips around the sun. And all those hours minutes and seconds mean nothing now. I don't believe that time represents the measure of a man. So why am I trying so hard to stop it? Where does this irrational fear that time is passing me by come from? Why did I wake up this morning with the thought that unless I do what I really want (need) to do then time is wasted. I desperately want (need) to spend what available imaginary time I have left involved in theatre. Kitty chases his tail. He spins around a few times a day. I'm not sure why, or what he's doing. Perhaps his imaginary measure of time is based on spins around his own feet. I'm chasing my tail every second I'm at work.