Curse the Time Change

When time is a constant in this universe that is slowly ticking toward entropy, why is it that we mortals feel that we can control the hands of our passing friend.

Or is it our enemy? I'm not sure I know; for in some moments it seems the delight of a day full of life, but in the next a cruel task-master driving us to harvest as much of its precious commodity, yet always leaving us ripped off and unsatisfied longing for more.

Time is a ponzi scheme that teaches us to measure each day not in an objective view, but rather comparatively to the measure we used yesterday or yesteryear. As children we took long drinks of the sweet days that seemed to never end. But each day grew shorter, and so the deception continued till the lot of time grows smaller ahead compared to the loss behind. And our children grow up faster, our taxes still need to be done, work is never quite complete, and we bemoan the lament, "if only there were a 25th hour in the day, or an 8th day in the week."

Or better yet, let's screw with the clocks and make-believe that time is subject to us. But we can't even get that right, because it robs us every spring. Curse the Time Change.