I’ve been going through old stuff at my parents’ house, and it really makes you think about the past and our connection to it. The past can feel much like dream; like something that never really happened, but then you find a concrete reminder that it really was.

Shakespeare’s soliloquy from MacBeth automatically springs to mind:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time…

Of course, it then goes into the dark mortality stuff, but I can’t help but think about all those petty-paced “tomorrows” piling up during Shakespeare’s life, and then after, and all the way along until now. The sun goes up, the sun goes down, the world spins and on it goes.

There are many schools of thought in which there is only now, only the moment we’re currently experiencing. No future, no past, only now. And in some ways, that must be the absolute truth, as time as we use it is a construct. A day here isn’t a day on Mars; a year here isn’t a year for Saturn.

But time is also a dimension; a marker of where something is. My phone is next to me on the sofa right now, but it wasn’t there yesterday. If we could look into yesterday as we can look up and down and right and left, we wouldn’t see my phone.

Should have warned you I was deeply philosophical today.

Whatever time is, it’s going, and I have other things to do. Happy Tuesday.

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Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

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