“If your size in time were as small as your size in space, you would live less than one-millionth of a second. If your size in space were as large as your size in time, you would need a microscope to examine the solar system. Pygmies in space, we are bumbling giants in time.”-Robert Grudin
There’s a temporal discomfort when a person enters a public restroom and places their bottom on a warm toilet seat, acknowledging that the temperature was set by a previous rump, visuals of a stranger’s anus are streamlined clear as the graffiti commanding the walls of the stall followed with the awkward teeter to offset warmth from cheek to cheek. I, of course, attest to the male experience. Being that we may stand to displace liquid waste, I digress to continue with further explanation, for this piece isn’t about the garbage of anatomical function, it’s about the garbage created from our concept of time. Consider, within minutes upon abandoning the toilet the warmth will dissipate and in place a cooled seat awaits its future occupier. Physicists claim, therefore, time progresses forward due to the modification of hot to cold. Within the confines of these alterations our species leapt from a chemical interaction to a biological interaction. We copulated and mutated our cells to advance us as upright citizens, building shrines to empty economic promises, positioning the importance of A to B to be as relevant as death. Hell awaits those who waste their time, but does that deem Heaven a perfect alignment from motion to motion? Instead of dismembering that which was experienced and condemning its worth as naught, or useful, we ought to forgo the concept of a calendar year and adopt the prominence of dusk till dawn as our basis for measurement. This eliminates the idea of 7 days and replaces it with now. Why is this useful? What is valuable about now? Nothing. And therein lies the value. When not, it’s never before, it’s never future, it’s a blink in a blackout, a drop of spit into the ocean. It’s useless and thus amounting to nothing, it can be us and forever us too. By Monday I’m dreading the work week, but without Monday I’m nothing more than awake, sashaying through the complications of a waking life. Sleep becomes merely a pause of now to now.
The discomfort of a warm public toilet seat will always remain relevant to humanity, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy the graffiti.