it will be okay today, tis the incantation that gets you through this sludgy life, wallowing in the concept of moving along a calendar space and digging your heels into the wet sands of time. a fickle and precious thing it is. chopped and divvied up---well, you already didn't have enough. who is worthy of having a slice? is it up to you, or is it up to grey matter itself? it matters little how tightly you hold this activity dear. there will be a day where it is too much for you to bear in the moment, and it will pass you by in a single blink. i want to do it. i would like to move. let me speak, and change the universe, dig my fingers into fate's mane and steer. but there is always some sort of wall, invisible, impending, casting a looming shadow like that of water in a glass, moving and hard to track. i cannot do it. to move is to die. to move is a waste of time. to move is to jump a calendar space. in psychiatry they call this celestial time hopping phenomenon 'adhd'.