Time

... waits for no man, and wastes for most.

I have less than two hours left of my twenties. So naturally, the best possible way to spend the sharply limited coin of my youth is to start a blog.

After all, what I've really longed for is a means to simply spray words and thoughts into the ether, regardless of whether no-one is listening. Especially if no-one is listening.

Is there something liberating about speaking without an audience? Certainly, if I were to pontificate into thin air, while people went about their business contentedly ignoring me, I would be thought mad. I get tired of talking at parties when it becomes clear that no-one is paying me the slightest attention.

And yet, spraying empty ramblings and voiceless thoughts into the empty Empyrean frees one from the terrible burden of making sense. Cohesion need not apply. The point is hardly required. The thought, the communique, the word... simply is.

So in a sense, then, the blog epitomises the world from which it was born: essentially pointless, devoid of meaning, yet extant all the same.

For when we exist, what else need there be?

Under 100 minutes now. A slightly larger number of years beckons. Tempted as I am to count them down, I shall soon toss them on the altar of Morpheus.

In this way I will soon have passed youth for something else, equally devoid of intrinsic meaning.

Perhaps I have wasted my time.

Yet time enjoyed is not time wasted.

Time will always be there, waiting. It is life that does not wait, and one must not waste.