Good old time, dragging us onwards ever onwards to mortality. Now that I'm a whopping twenty-nine, I am regularly reading about people my age dropping dead of heart attacks, brain aneurysm, peculiar cancers, and the like. I would have thought I had at least ten more years before I would feel like the bad news was about my peers. But not so.
I was taught once in a science class that entropy is the only true measure of time. Meaning that death is the only true measurement of life. A pleasant thought.
Immortality isn't easy to come by, and in search of it I won't be one of those people who, in their wills, [request] that their memoirs be bound in their own skins.
But the ticking of a clock surely must be the most morbid thing of all. Which is why, I suppose, I am so infatuated with this clock.
(See more cool stuff by the designer here.)
Since I have to ask, I know I can't afford it, but it is cool.
Anyway, the clock is ticking now and I have one small task to complete before heading home.