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With time passing as quickly as it does these days, the old, familiar seven-day week to which we’ve grown accustomed has grown threadbare, tattered, worn thin by the specter of days seen scurrying by in a frenzied rush to get to God knows where . . . it almost makes one want to return to an earlier era, when the days dragged drudgingly along as if time, tamer of worlds, was  a renewable resource capable of endless iteration.

Oh, how I long for the time when the pace of days was slower! In past epochs, which is to say, in my youth, the days crawled by almost imperceptibly, like glaciers once did before men with more ambition than presence sought to “improve” what was always a perfect system.

Now, like glacial melt hastened by a warming climate, it’s as if the thawing days, newly energized, have become imbued with a newfound sense purpose that propels them forward ever faster.

How odd it is to recall, in light of the blur from the friction of the dance of days at its present pace, that the third grade was five years long. These days, months flash by like weeks once did, and weeks expend themselves more like days. On the ‘plus’ side, Winter is much shorter than it used to be; on the ‘minus’ side, so is Summer!

We need not further complicate this discussion with the fact, inconvenient though it is, that time is nothing more than is a compromise devised by humans, a construct conceived to make sense of something otherwise unexplainable, inscrutable.

Truth aside, however, time may also be viewed as an arbitrary arrangement, an agreement between all affected parties, which is to say everyone, to measure, divide and, among the more optimistic, to conquer that mysterious dimension that allows us to take note of the changes we witness, over “time,” in our surroundings and ourselves.

And, since this agreement is of our own making, we need not be bound by convention, or precedent, in our decision-making concerning its application.

In other areas of life, when a problem is identified, a solution is often devised to overcome it. Why should calendrical concerns be treated any differently?

If the current calendars can’t keep up with the accelerating onslaught of days, maybe it’s time to lighten their load, time to invent new ways, new days, to supplement  those overworked sentinels of sensate subjectivation.

While ‘seven’ may rhyme with ‘Heaven.’ the same’s may be said of ‘eleven.’

While some may see this silly rhyme

And think I have just too much time

That ought be put to better use

And judge me for my word abuse

To these I’d say, if only seven

Aren’t enough, perhaps eleven

Might better meet the facts at hand

And satisfy this new demand.

If eleven-day weeks seem too long, just remember that, as you grow older, that will change and, eventually, if you live long enough, eleven days will seem more like seven.

At least that’s my story!

And I’m sticking to it!

Tim Konrad

December 27, 2021