The Redundancy of Time by Andrew Emerson Rehm (Age 1)

The Redundancy of Time

by Andrew Emerson Rehm (Age One)

I’m not quite sure what the deal is but these two people keep looking at me.  Watching me.  Sometimes other people look at me too.  Everyone’s always, I don’t know, leering.  It’s just seems rude. I don’t know, if I was them I’d- TREE!  THERE’S A TREE! I JUST SAW A TREE-  learn some manners.  But that’s just me. Comme ci comme ça.

Where was I?  Ah the beginning.  I find myself at a crossroads.  Metaphorically of course.  Perhaps ‘turning point’ is more appropo.  I find myself at a turning point.  Regardless, my food nozzle (not the fleshy one) is being taken away from me.  The reasoning seems almost arbitrary.  I like the food nozzle.  The food nozzle has always been good to me.  Why is everyone making up my mind for me?  Isn’t this America?  Don’t we all deserve the same basic human rights?  Life, liberty and the pursuit of food nozzles (both fleshy and un-fleshy)?  Things are confusing.  They don’t tell you that at 3 months, but this world is confusing.  I mean, I’m this many years old now and I should be treated that way.  Thanks for the cake and everything but don’t pull your punches.  This world is a hard.  It’s harsh out there but- OOAAAAHHHH.  HAS ANY ONE EVER FELT THIS BEFORE?  SERIOUSLY SOMEONE TOUCH THIS BLANKET.  I THINK THIS BLANKET FEELS GOOD.  THIS BLANKET IS A GOOD THING- you gotta know that before you grow up.  I didn’t get to be this many years old with stars in my eyes, ya know?  I’m a realist.  Always will be.

They’re looking at me again.  Always clapping.  Always waving.  Put your hands down idiots, I can see you.  You don’t have to wave at me like I’m leaving on a cruise.  I mean, the idiots aren’t all bad.  They’re all right, I guess.  They provide the food nozzles.  They brought me Winston Churchill II and The Greater Gatsby (my sock monkey and stuffed elephant, respectively).  They keep those tiny dragons (i.e. canines) away from my precious face.  Maybe they aren’t all that…  

Full disclosure, I just fell asleep for two hours.

Where was I?  I really should outline these things.  And there you go.  You’re rambling again Andrew.  And now you’re referencing yourself.  What’s more trite than a self-aware author?  Keep to the point.  This isn’t the New Yorker.  Speaking of the New Yorker, did any of you read that amazing article on Clint Eastwood in the March 6th issue.  I gained a lot of respect for the guy.  Call me an east coast elitist but- IF YOU PRESS THAT RED THING IT PLAYS MUSIC.  THE RED BUTTON PLAYS MUSIC.  MOM.  DAD.  THAT BUTTON PLAYS MUSIC AND IT SOUNDS NICE.  IT SOUNDS SO NICE WHEN YOU PRESS IT- the guy never really impressed me.  I’m gonna give him a second chance.  But I digress.

I’m trying to get to something here and I’m not sure how to articulate it.  It sounds cliché, but what are we really doing here?  In all my year on Earth, no one has been able to explain away the burden of time.  We’re chasing our own tails, are we not?  I feel like at birth I was forced to start falling and with each passing moment I’m closer to the rocks below.  Is there nothing but falling?  Are our minds static whilst trying to understand our descent?  Shall we just attempt to come to terms with it?  Hasn’t man been fighting with this question for over this many centuries?  What are we fighting, if not our own hatred of time?  Can we exist with out time?  Can time exist with out us?  It was either Sartre or DJ Lance who said…

Full disclosure, I just slept an entire night.  Full disclosure, I also defecated myself.