A matter of time

If there's one thing I've noticed about time, it's that there never seems to be enough of it. Actually, to be more exact, there is enough time - indeed, more than enough time - but only when I don't want it. For example, when I'm engaged in an activity I don't like - say, for example, working my wonderful and emotionally stimulating job in vitamin retail - time has a magical way of slowing down. I gaze at the clock, watching the minute hand make its leisurely trip around the dial, and gradually begin my descent into temporal oblivion. It is in this state that a single hour - trivial and unassuming - can become a deceptively vast ocean of time. On the other hand, when I'm engaged in an activity I very much enjoy, such as kicking back and watching a movie, time always goes by in a heartbeat. I sit down, get comfy, get lost in the art of the movie, and before I know it, the light fades and several hours have elapsed, leaving me to ask myself, "Where did all the time go?" It seems an ironic shame that my life is so often defined by long durations of meaningless activity, whereas the truer moments of my life - the ones that border on the magical and unforgettable - are also nothing more than moments, fleeting and abstract. Perhaps this helps explain the adage, "live today like there's no tomorrow", although given the subjective realities of duration and time, "today" may be nothing more than a traitor of "tomorrow".