T I M E

She inches along in an excruciating way when I am in a hurry. I wait for her to catch up, but she speeds past. Always on her own schedule, not caring about my feelings. She is a contention every weekday morning. I stare at numbers in the afternoon, wondering why she is crawling. She makes me crazy some days; other days I am excitedly anticipating her. She cares not about my feelings, doing things on her internal schedule. Bringing the calendar and the clock into the forefront of her own table. I have to admire her tenacity, and her confidence. She is time.