What Happens to Time?

When Monday morning kicking off another day's work seamlessly morphs into a Monday morning kicking off another week. And while you're trying to think about it, why not? another month flies out the window and next thing you know you're left sitting on a metaphorical curb, head cradled in your hands, wondering what you've accomplished, if anything, during that hectic October you've just leaked ever so unsuspectingly.

Or when you meet your new pediatrics resident for the night's duty and realize that his father was actually the pediatrician who followed, treated, and probably terrorized you through the better part of your childhood, 0-18 years of age. In a puff of smoke.
Such a shame how far that apple falls from the tree... but I digress...

People are always afraid of losing time. Time, time, time.
"We're late, we need to hurry!" Of course. Time is gold.
"I'm growing old, look at these wrinkles" says she, in her mid-late 20's, dripping of youth and beauty as she speeds down a wrong way road to her plastic surgeon's office, stone-coldly ignoring all pleas for a healthy and graceful maturity that's still far far away.

But why? Why should I be so preoccupied with time, when the harder I try to save it, the more acutely aware I am of my helplessness toward it? Why can't I be less attached to that Monday? or to that October, or to that year that October has ruthlessly dragged down with it for the 28th time? And why can't I look back at my great 28 years in this world and smile, instead of looking just ahead, terrified of turning 30 in 2 years?
2 years. More like 2 Mondays, 2 more weeks, 2 more Octobers; it's all the same. Maybe that's why...

Meet me back at that curb...