I’m sure I’m not the only one among us who has noticed that times flies.
Hermes, the fleet-footed messenger of the Greek gods, was a real plodder compared to time.
Our lives are a never-ending battle against the clock. There simply is never enough time. Blink and it’s already tomorrow.
Compounding matters, we usually sleep through a third of each day depending on our bedtime routine and the number of meetings we attend.
As we get older, the passage of time shifts into Ludicrous Speed made famous in Mel Brooks’ “Spaceballs.”
Only the young can be gloriously contemptuous of how fast time zips by. In fact, they want it to accelerate with all the rapidity of a jackhammer.
Kids can’t wait to get bigger and older so they can stay up after 8, shave, drive a car, get a job and pay taxes.
OK, I forgot to mention party like it’s 1999.
Speaking of 1999, wasn’t that just yesterday?
Life is a matter of stimulus and response. Meaning that if you think and act old, you are old.
So for years I simply ignored that time was whooshing past and kept thinking and acting like I was 25.
I’m certain many of you have done likewise. Denial is an underrated asset. And it works. But only for a time.
So we want to squeeze life until the juice runs while we — some of us anyway — also want to be a saint. Suffice it to say that is hard to combine the two objectives.
Alas, I eventually realized that I was no longer riding in tandem with young Lochinvar when life’s open road ahead of me began sprouting potholes.
When time escapes you like air from a leaking balloon, it does a number on you.
As the years manifest themselves like some manic multiplication table, you become even pokier than humidity.
Fluorescent tans are replaced by basal cell lesions. Your mirror reflects a layer of weather covering your face.
Streaked butterscotch hair becomes the color of unpainted steel.
You need WD-40 to lubricate joints choked with rigor mortis.
In short, you no longer look like the guy they send out to kill James Bond — unless 86-year-old Sean Connery reprises the role.
While the months dropping like leaves from the calendar may eat away our time, we must not let it also eat away our stomach lining.
Simply ignore time rushing past our eyes like a subway train on crank. After all, we all have preordained shelf lives so let it rip even if you trip.
Just look at the forever young Mick Jagger still prancing and dancing on stage.
Repeat after me: Time is on my side, yes it is.
OK, that isn’t true. Even Jim Croce couldn’t save time in a bottle. But mind over matter can spit in the face of Father Time — if only for too short a time.
